


The Theory of Happiness

by go_higher



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (just add the word sad before them both), (that was a lie), Angst, Dark, Family, Friendship, Gen, Good times, It Gets Worse, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, Serious Injuries, Some Humor, triggering topics, you guys it's a rewrite-
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 101,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28964979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/go_higher/pseuds/go_higher
Summary: This is how it ends.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Minho | Lee Know & Everyone, Lee Minho | Lee Know & Seo Changbin, Lee Minho | Lee Know & Yang Jeongin | I.N, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Everyone
Comments: 237
Kudos: 112





	1. |Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No Galaxy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18407912) by [go_higher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/go_higher/pseuds/go_higher). 



* * *

_Sometimes good things don't come to those who wait._

* * *

Twin stars crossed the nighttime sky.

Arcs of light, soared bright across the ocean galaxy above, deep purple and blue, spinning, sparkling white. Tumbling white.

Winter fell graceful on top their heads.

Minho cheered quietly, sound breaking from his lips in breaths of frosted air.

He pointed towards the leaving stars, their trails only echoes of a passing vibrant life.

"Look."

The cold squeezed his lungs. He squeezed the hand of the boy beside him tighter.

Though his nose burned, though his ears felt blistered, numb and red, though his toes were aching and his boots were frozen wet, buried in the snow- he felt warmed.

"I didn't think..." His friend's voice was stunned. His friend's voice was soft. His friend turned his head and looked at him, something like amazement in his eyes. "You were right."

"Ha! Of course I was." Minho waggled his brows and grinned. He puffed out his chest proudly. Flipped his scarf over his shoulder. Adjusted his mother's hand-knit hat. "Doesn't that mean I win? You owe me."

But instead of joking along, instead of snorting with a grin as he usually did, Minho's friend was quiet. In the big black coat of his own, his friend suddenly seemed small.

Minho blinked. "What?" He studied the other boy's face in the wake of the abrupt silence. It dawned on him what it meant soon after. Minho's expression twisted into one horrendously aggrieved, disbelief and a complaint pushing his lips out as he protested.

"No. No way. You can't take it back." 

His friend stepped back. Minho stepped forward. 

"You _promised_."

He snagged the other boy's free hand, now holding onto both, and pulled them close together.

Minho squinted. Minho frowned, not very seriously upset at all, but waiting somewhat impatiently for his friend to recognize the important gravity of his words. When his friend remained silent, staring at Minho's face, Minho leaned in. He was _just_ a bit shorter, so briefly he pushed onto his toes to emphasize the words-

"You promised you'd tell."

That was it. His friend's expression stilled.

No.

Everything stilled.

He looked down at Minho's hands in his own.

At their boots.

At their deep footprints in the snow.

Minho tracked it all, then followed the other boy's gaze as it rose to meet his once more.

"What?" This time when Minho said it, he sounded lost. 

His friend shook his head. 

That's when Minho realized.

That's when Minho knew.

His smile fell. His eyes grew wide.

In the park, on the hill, where their sleds rested below, they stood, silhouettes still, the lamp-lit benches and ice-crowned trees of the park's winding path glistening- gleaming clear.

His friend's mouth curved. "Sorry."

His words were unbearably, unbearably kind.

_"I think I-"_

* * *

Minho blinked.

Sluggish. Slow. Minho blinked again.

The effort hurt. Everything hurt.

Somewhere, the low thrum of AC whirred, high, high above. Or was it from the walls? His pulse hammered in his throat.

It felt different than his heart. His heart felt still.

Dazed and confused, he gazed at the ceiling lights, orange, dull and dimmed. Sweat pooled beneath his back and beneath his head. What had he been doing? Why was it so hot? _Ahh,_ it was so annoying. He frowned. The blurry spots of his vision gave no answers.

Minho brought the heel of his palms to his eyes and pressed, digging them in deep. Minutes dragged and passed but the exhaustion and ache in his body remained.

Defeated, he dropped his hands and found himself looking at a very familiar set of eyes above a mask, beneath a black cap.

Jisung crouched over him, brows furrowed.

Minho furrowed his brows right back. He was having a hard time getting the three Jisungs swarming in his line of sight to merge into one.

"What?"

He meant it as a question. It came out a weak mumble instead.

Jisung didn't stop staring. "What are you doing?" he asked. 

There was something in his voice.

Minho couldn't place what it was. Couldn't remember, now that it was asked, why he was here. He brought his gaze to the ceiling once more. It was a good question.

"I was sleeping," he said aloud, thinking.

Had he been?

He must've.

"Hyung."

There it was again. That _thing_ in Jisung's voice. It made Minho look.

There was one Jisung- except now he was beyond blurry. Minho opened and closed his eyes, rapidly, several times. It didn't help at all.

"Do you feel sick?"

No, he felt confused.

Minho pushed himself onto his elbows, off and away from the stickiness of the wooden practice room floor, sitting up. His head spun. He blindly reached out. Jisung grabbed his arm. The wall of mirrors behind Jisung showed their still reflections. Minho stared at them, uncomprehending. He didn't quite understand.

His white t-shirt, his dark cargos, his black sneakers. They didn't look like they fit. His hair was plastered, drenched in sweat, skin flushed like he'd been dancing relentlessly for hours, even though he hadn't.

He was so fuzzy.

His features weren't clear.

What kind of expression was on his face? He couldn't tell.

"I'm not sick," he said.

"Bin-hyung." Jisung pushed Minho's disgustingly wet hair away from his forehead, studying Minho's face so intently Minho wondered if the rapper had actually forgotten who he was. Then Changbin's voice was coming from the door somewhere behind him, a serious and low, _"Yeah"_ \- and Minho realized they weren't alone.

Then he realized that something was going on. With him. 

He tried to swallow down the baffled panic rising but struggled- his throat was too dry. _Easy._ He wanted to get off the floor and stand. _Calm down._ He fumbled with Jisung's jacket in an attempt to get leverage and pull himself up. No use. Didn't work. His body wouldn't move. 

"Sungie-"

"Shh."

Jisung raised his other hand, and for a moment, did nothing except hold Minho's face between his cold and steady palms. The cool was comforting. The blood beneath his skin didn't feel so torched. Minho squeezed his eyes shut, begging his pulse to slow, and breathed in. Something was happening-

But Jisung was here. And for once he didn't pull away.

Whatever it was, Minho wouldn't have to worry. It would probably be alright. It would probably-

"Hyung. Can you look at me?"

Minho's eyes fluttered, lashes clumping close together. "I am," he slurred. Jumbled garbage in his ears. When did that happen? His tongue wasn't numb a few seconds ago. Irritated, he focused, and tried to speak again. "I see you Jisung-ah." 

"No." Jisung answered tight. His hands shifted. He held Minho's head firmly, fingers lacing behind his neck. "You have to look at me."

Minho rolled his eyes, almost irrationally huffy. He _was_ , wasn't he-

Oh.

...Oh.

He couldn't see.

He could hear but couldn't see.

He couldn't open his eyes. 

It was warm and cold, loud and dark. Jisung cursed beneath his breath. Minho opened his mouth to scold him. Nothing came out.

The hands on his face were slipping.

No, he was the one slipping.

Sinking underwater. Warmer than before. Quieter than before. The silence that sounded so loud before was a muted murmur. Everyone's voices, muted murmurs. The panic, it was gone. Yes, this was easier. 

No more. He wanted to rest. So long as someone stayed, so long as they didn't go- He was gathered in warmth. In the safety of someone's arms. Bigger than Jisung's.

They held him as he sank. They spoke desperate as he sank.

"What _happened_?"

Fear. They were scared. Why?

It was fine.

He was fine.

Familiar voices and hands. His managers were here? The members were here? Which ones? _Which ones?_ He wondered if he managed to put on a smile, fake as it was, they would see that he was fine.

But the arms holding him were trapping him inside. In the darkness, in the swelling, suffocating heat keeping him in place, Minho was trapped inside. 

He was ten years old again.

He was chasing after his friend.

Not enough.

Not enough.

Exhausted and weak.

What had he been doing before? That's right. He remembered.

_He'd been laughing._

The cage that gripped him tightly dragged him swiftly under. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got one hour of sleep, I'm-


	2. |Gray

"Why is it so hot?"

"Maybe it's because you're talking."

"Maybe it's because _you're_ talking."

It was five in the afternoon.

Orange light and golden shadows spilled across the tiled floor of the convenience store Minho and his hyung browsed in.

Moms and dads, students and workers, milled through the aisles around them. Some microwaved ramen, others chatted, a girlfriend and her boyfriend at the other end of the aisle were at the ice cream freezers debating between three flavors.

"Ice cream," said Minho, voice flat.

"We had it before," said Haejun, voice even flatter.

"You just said it was hot."

"That doesn't mean I want ice cream again."

Haejun remained crouched in front a bottom shelf of brightly-packaged snacks. He'd been there for the better part of five minutes, silent. Minho was beginning to wonder if the older boy was stuck.

The summer had never been hotter. Maybe Haejun had decided to give up on moving like how he'd decided to give up on cutting his hair. 

Oh well.

Minho went off and grabbed two waters and bottles of juice, then stopped by another section of the tall fridges and snagged two packaged boiled eggs. There was nothing to think about so he thought about everything and wound up with an odd assortment of sounds in his own head.

Sometimes there was too much and he couldn't be bothered to try and understand.

Sometimes there wasn't enough and it was too much work to not understand. 

There wasn't much to express until there was. Maybe he should've said something to Haejun before wandering off but he didn't think it mattered. They knew each other too well to be bothered. 

Besides, it had always been easier doing things rather than try to explain why.

Absently he tugged at the neck of his t-shirt, letting in cool air from the whirring system in the walls. He should've worn shorts but it was more comfortable dancing in sweats. It made him feel like he'd worked harder. Next time though, less clothes. He could try. 

...He probably wouldn't do it. The other guys didn't. 

By the time he rounded back to where the freezers were, Haejun was already there, chips in hand.

His hyung rolled his eyes at the look on Minho's face.

"Whatever. I'm not gonna eat mine."

"Okay hyung."

"I'm _not_."

They made their way to the register and paid. The worker bid them a good day and they left the store, bell jingling on the frame.

They crossed the road together and sat on the curve of the grassy hill that overlooked the sprawling cityscape below.

Smog hovered over the buildings, turning the view gold and gray.

Minho tugged at his shirt again, then tugged at his mask, pulling it down and away. He and Haejun split their snacks and ate for a time in comfortable quiet. Then Haejun spoke.

Minho should've known it was coming.

"Fun, wasn't it?"

Minho bit into his egg, pretending not to understand. "What?" he monotoned.

"You're a buffoon," Haejun snorted but there was no malice in his words. "They had you up front."

They did.

He kind of wished they didn't. He kind of hoped it wasn't out of pity.

Their dance studio was tiny compared to most but there were plenty of girls and boys who came weekly. Usually during workshops Minho was in the back, watching not himself through the mirror, but the reflections of the others as he tried to match their movements. Sometimes they moved him to the sides and he had a better view of everyone.

It was rare he was in the front.

But after his return from auditions in Seoul, after the few friendly clapped shoulders and the few sympathetic looks and overly loud chatter and random praise, his studio friends and teachers had been much, much kinder. Embarrassingly so. 

If they could all just pretend...

Minho finished off the egg and occupied himself with water, hoping his ears weren't as on fire as they felt. Wishing Haejun would stop staring at him so expectantly for some kind of response. He failed hadn't he? What kind of response did he want?

It was a little humiliating, but it wasn't like anyone could be an idol. He had known that. It'd been a hail mary on a whim.

Besides, if things were that easy everything would've been different.

Not just for him.

For others too.

No. He could succeed elsewhere. There were plenty of other options.

The work that was put into being an actual idol- it wasn't enough to have half-baked dreams and small ambitions for what he wanted. No way. He wouldn't last. 

He drained his bottle dry.

Returning to Gimpo, stepping off the bus alone, had been one of the hardest things to do. But it made sense. His passion hadn't really been enough. 

"Hello?" Haejun flicked Minho against the side of his head. "Where did you go? What kind of ugly face is that?"

Minho wasn't sure what kind of face he had on. When he was thinking it had a tendency to do things on its own. "Nothing," he said. He leaned as far away from his intrusive hyung as possible. "Leave me alone," he complained louder. 

Haejun rolled his eyes. "Brat."

He rummaged through their small bag of store-bought items and threw a bar of chocolate ice cream into Minho's lap all the same.

"When the next competition comes we should do it." He cast Minho a sidelong look not so slyly. " _If_ you want."

"I'll do it," Minho muttered, tearing the wrapper off his ice cream. He stuck the treat in his mouth, staring at the city beneath the hill resolutely, very much avoiding Haejun's gaze. "I'm not gonna suddenly quit dancing," he mumbled quieter.

Haejun said nothing for a moment. Then he huffed out a laugh. "Well, I didn't think you would. That'd be lame."

Minho glanced him. He knew better than anyone when Haejun had something more to say. 

"You're not really the kind of person who gives up," the older boy mused. "That's why you're so annoying." He gazed towards the clouds set low on the horizon, half a smirk tugging on his lips, like he knew everything there was to know on the planet earth. "That's why all the hyungs like you." 

Minho almost wanted to punch him. "Whatever."

Haejun's smirk was growing. "You know for a kid you sure have a lot of attitude."

"It's because I'm a kid I have an attitude," Minho smartly replied. 

That was part of growing up. Haejun's mom had assured Minho plenty of times that getting annoyed and offended over every little thing was normal for adolescent teens.

Haejun, over his bowl of meat and rice at the dinner table, had told Minho it was because his brain was small and wouldn't finish developing until he was over twenty. Minho had fired back that Haejun's brain must've been extra small then because any signs of development were gone.

Haejun had thrown his chopsticks, Minho had thrown his bowl, and they had wound up scrubbing rice off the walls for thirty minutes after as Haejun's mother unleashed a lengthy scolding.

"Seriously." 

"What."

"Why you'd audition anyway?"

The question came out of the blue.

Minho choked on his ice cream. Haejun watched, disinterested, and waited.

"You're asking now?" Minho wondered. He wiped his chin and pulled the stick his ice cream had been attached to out of his mouth. His hyung couldn't bother to ask a month ago when he first broke the news?

Minho _thought_ it was suspicious how the older boy hadn't questioned his motives. But Haejun was suspicious human being in general, and had never told Minho his real reasons behind anything, so he couldn't say it was out of the ordinary.

"I didn't think you wanted to be a star. It seemed kind of random, that's all," his long-time hyung answered. His words were dismissive as was the expression he wore on his face.

Minho read past it clear. Made his words clear. "I don't want to be famous."

"Uh-huh."

"I just wanted to try."

"And get locked up in some company dungeon for ten years? Would you really want that even if you passed?"

No. No he didn't.

Minho didn't want to stay anywhere for that long. He couldn't. Restlessness aside- he really _couldn't_. It would be too late.

 _Even though it's too late already_.

Minho squashed down the bout of frustration that sprung up to his mind. There were _other ways,_ he reminded himself again. He could dance and figure it out. There was _time._

"I'm not gonna audition anymore," he told his hyung. "It was for fun."

"The dream of all kids. To get rejected in front a crowd-"

"-it wasn't in front a crowd-"

Haejun pulled his own bar of ice cream from their bag at last. "Either way you're a horrible liar." He ignored the mighty glower Minho fixed upon him, unwrapping his dessert he had once insisted he didn't care for as he went on. "If you did it for fun then I guess it's not really important that you failed, right? Like how it's not really important I spent five hundred on this from your pocket."

Minho felt the left pocket of his pants. It was empty.

Now Haejun was really smirking. His eyes had grown smugger beneath the infuriatingly even part of his floppy, flopping, flop hair. " _Thanks._ It's not a big deal right? I only took it for _fun._ "

Without skipping a beat, Minho snatched Haejun's ice cream and lobbed it off the hill.

It spun in the flames of the setting sun, brilliant, brief- then disappeared.

There was silence for a long minute.

An incredibly long minute. 

Minho got to his feet and brushed his hands on his pant legs. "Well. I'm bored, let's go home."

Haejun's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. " _Yaa!"_

Minho looked at his hyung, expression blank. "You said it wasn't important, right?"

"I was being philosophical! I was trying to cheer you up!" Haejun exclaimed.

Minho continued to look at his hyung, expression blanking further. "What part of that was meant to work?"

_"Why did you throw it?"_

Minho and his eyes shifted. He set one foot behind him. "I was being _philosophical_." The word was annoyingly big. "Why didn't you catch it?"

Haejun stared at the younger boy.

Really, truly stared.

Then he stood.

Minho was already running.

"You should've caught it!" he screamed over his shoulder.

Haejun bolted after Minho, hollering.

They made it a quarter of the way across the grass towards the road before Haejun ripped off his sneaker and threw it at Minho's head.

It missed and smacked him between the shoulder blades.

Minho went down, not because of Haejun's shoe, but because he tripped over his own feet. When he hit the ground it was with an undignified squawk, drawing the eyes of all those passing on the sidewalk towards the rising debacle. He rambled. _"Forgive me for my sins-"_

Haejun sat on his back. Not for lack of trying, Minho did attempt to crawl.

They wrestled and rolled across the dirt, winding up with both their hands shoving one another's faces away as they bickered.

"It's a five-hundred melon bar! They have more!"

"Who has that kind of money? Are you kidding me!"

"What are you talking about?" Minho argued. "It's the cheapest one they have! It was my money! Just get another!"

"It's not the same!" Haejun yowled. "I can't get it back!"

"Of course you can!"

_Of course you can._

That was what Minho had thought back then.

It was right there across the street. It was right there in that store. Of course he could. 

_It's not so hard to get things back._

Arguing, shouting, tousling on the hill, Minho hadn't known. 

How wrong he was.

* * *

Minho woke alone.

He laid in the darkness, in the poignant quiet, staring at the blurry shadows stretched overhead. He knew them. They belonged to the bars of his shared bunk. His body felt warm and soft. Oddly well-rested. He was over top his blankets, pillow tucked in one arm.

He set it aside and slowly sat, gazing at the dark outlines of his legs and socks.

After a minute or two of no thoughts he tugged the socks off his feet and held them in his hands.

That was how Seungmin found him.

Minho turned his head.

Seungmin continued to hold one corner of the thin blanket that had been pretending to be the bed's curtain. They looked at one another, silent. The bedroom light was off, a sliver of orange light spilling from the hall across the floor in a triangular soft glow.

Seungmin dropped the curtain, blocking Minho off from the outside world once more.

Darkness returned.

"...What are you doing?" Minho asked after an extremely long second. His throat was as dry as his words.

"I didn't know you were awake," Seungmin replied a short while later. A certain silence fell between the pair again. "Are you actually awake?"

Minho stared at the fabric of his curtain. "Is it not obvious?" 

There was a niggling in the back of his head, one he couldn't really place. He wondered what it was but didn't try and figure it out. 

"You sleep talk. I never know." Seungmin lifted the bedsheet for a second time, gazing at Minho with an expression that looked completely unbothered and bothered at once. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Why?"

Seungmin's expression didn't change. His eyes went from the socks Minho held to the older boy's face, skeptical. "Fine? Nothing feels wrong?"

"Aside from you standing in front my bed like a creep, no," Minho answered.

Seungmin snorted, very slightly, and moved, opening the curtain wider. He pushed it out of the way, to the very far end of the bunk's pole and returned to Minho when he was done.

Minho tried and failed spectacularly not to be annoyed. "I didn't say you could do that."

"Well I did it anyway." Seungmin's eyes went to Minho's hands once more, judgement in every line of his lowered brow. "Could you please put those down? They smell."

Minho showed great benevolent restraint, choosing not to throw them at Seungmin's head, but hold them a little tighter in his palms instead. "Do you want to die?" he inquired nicely.

Seungmin actually rolled his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest. "Don't you know what time it is?"

Was he supposed to?

"Isn't it night?"

"Yeah." He hesitated. "You were out for hours."

Minho wasn't sure why it mattered. "So?"

Now Seungmin was really, really staring. His mouth fell open. Closed. Opened again. "You don't remember?"

"You're being really vague so no," responded Minho.

He had slept. He had woke. He'd had dreams of sitting in tall grass and joking around.

Still, he ditched his socks so he reached up and scratched at his head with a hand. It was making him uncomfortable, the way Seungmin's eyes were glued to Minho's face.

"Hyung," Seungmin said, as though Minho should've known. "You passed out."

When Minho blinked this time, it was extraordinarily slow. Today? Earlier on? That couldn't be right.

Minho remembered. He'd woken up at six am, he'd gone on a run, he'd met with his trainer and went with the others for the company evaluation. Then they practiced dancing. Then they'd split and practiced vocals with their trainers. Then-

Minho furrowed his brows.

Then he went on a walk with his manager. Then he rented out a time slot in the studio and lightly danced again. Listened to music. Laid on the floor thinking, stood up thinking and-

_No that was it._

Minho cleared his throat. Right. That had been it.

_There'd been nothing he could do._

He scowled. He refocused on the present. He didn't need to think about that now. So maybe he had fainted after all. He needed to drink more water. He cleared his throat again, looking up, intending to wave Seungmin off.

But the other boy was gone and the room was empty.

Minho gazed at the spot where his member had once been- and swung his legs out of bed.

He had just touched his feet to the floor when the bedroom door opened and Changbin stepped in.

There was a rag in his hand.

Minho never got the chance to ask what he thought he was doing because Changbin crossed the room and slapped it right across his forehead.

It was sopping wet and cold and it _hurt._

"Ya!"

Changbin waited the approximately appropriate length of time before silences grew awkward before deciding to speak, one hundred percent unapologetic. "Oh. My bad. Let me try that again."

Minho, sitting on the bed, decided to practice a punch he learned in boxing. Changbin took the hit to the gut remarkably unfazed, taking the time to refold the rag and tuck it securely behind Minho's ears and over his brow.

"How is it?" he questioned.

"That's too much," Minho accused, though he was much too caught off guard for anger to set in. Besides it felt, for some reason, like a well-deserved slap. "Seungmin put you up to this."

Changbin raised an eyebrow. "Who?" He crossed his arms, a mirror image of the other boy who had come before him, and snorted. "You freaked him out."

"He was lurking at my bed and I was the one who freaked him out?"

"Yeah. Maybe it was because you zoned out for half an hour and didn't move."

Minho huffed, touching the rag on his forehead. He was, in the end, somewhat grateful for the cold relief it offered. "Sure."

"Uh, no. That's what you really did." Changbin canted his head to the side, studying Minho in a way the other boy didn't like at all.

Minho twisted his lips, successfully irritated. " _What?"_

Changbin's eyes were huge. He exhaled on a laugh, sounding the furthest from amused. "Ya- _you_ \- you're really ridiculous, you know. What's with you today? You're all over the place. Were you messing around? We didn't even know you went back to the studio." 

Something flared in Minho's chest. Not annoyance. Not anger. _Fear._

He batted it aside.

He drew himself up.

It was irrational. 

"I told hyung."

"Hyung had no idea," Changbin retorted.

"Not Jae-hyung, Donggyu-hyung," Minho said, defensive. He had assumed their manager would tell the other one where he went. Apparently not. That was his mistake. "Why are you acting like I did something wrong? I can't go sleeping around on floors?"

Changbin looked wonderfully incredulous, even in the dark. "What are you talking about? That's not what you were doing. You scared the crap out of everyone. Jisung thought you died. It was a soap-opera."

That stopped Minho well enough. He pulled the rag off his brow and got up, stumbling as he did. He stared at Changbin, thoughts moving just a bit faster in his head.

Changbin returned the stare, wary and confused. "What?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay." A pause. "And?"

Minho started for the door. "Nothing. Where is he?"

"Jisung?" Changbin turned to watch him go. "In the kitchen with the others- _hey_ \- where do you think you're going? _Go lie back down._ "

"Don't tell me what to do," Minho droned without any sort of interest, mind otherwise preoccupied and no longer present in any sort of conversation Changbin wanted to keep having.

He didn't make it very far.

Changbin grabbed his right arm. Then he grabbed his left. Then he began very carefully, but very forcefully, dragging Minho backwards, away from the door.

Minho struggled. They both struggled. They started struggling on the floor.

"You're gonna. Leave. _Claw marks_ ," Changbin growled.

"Then let. _Go_ ," Minho wheezed.

Changbin didn't stop his efforts of hauling Minho by the ankle. Minho didn't stop trying to drag himself across the wooden floorboards.

They screeched and fought. They loudly cursed. 

Their antics were interrupted as the bedroom door pushed open. The lights were flicked on.

Changbin and Minho looked up.

Their leader stood in the doorway.

Changbin coughed. Minho went limp. Chan lifted his eyebrows- and waited.

"Welp. Have fun."

That was all Changbin said, slapping Minho on the ass and getting up. He nodded at Chan, and once behind the older boy, glanced Minho's way and made a face, half-grinning, half-fearful, like watching a sibling land themselves in parental trouble.

Minho, on his part, kept lying on the floor, wondering if he pretended to not exist it would make Chan accept it as reality and leave.

"I'm still here, Minho," said Chan's voice a moment later. Unlike Seungmin and Changbin, he sounded vaguely bemused.

Cautiously, Minho removed his face from the ground.

Chan leaned against the door frame. His gaze was careful, yet the rest of him gave nothing away. He'd been wearing a lot of cut-off shirts lately. He mentioned in passing it was _'just more comfortable, ya know?'_ but Minho had a strong suspicion it was actually because the older boy's arms didn't fit in sleeves anymore.

They'd gotten freakishly big.

"I'll skip the questions I know the others asked," Chan said, bringing Minho's attention right round.

He didn't step forward. He didn't step back. He merely continued to watch from the door.

"Hungry?"

Minho thought about it, relieved he wouldn't have to sit through another row of questions. "Yeah." He was. Now that he was made aware, his stomach burned. 

Chan hummed. "They said you didn't hit your head. Is it bothering you at all?"

"No."

"You must've worked too hard. Good thing it wasn't serious."

The casual manner Chan spoke with came across as odd. Minho sat, legs crossed, and rested his arms in his lap. He studied his friend. "Right."

"I spoke with the hyungs. You can take tomorrow off."

Minho looked at the older boy who was looking right back at him. "I don't need to," he answered, taking caution. Caution he used only when it came to questionable matters between himself and Chan. Something was off.

Tomorrow they were supposed to practice new choreography. Minho had already gone over some of it with one of their dance instructors but-

"I can still go."

"Well it wasn't a suggestion."

Chan smiled. Just a bit. His eyes had grown unreadable. "You seem a little tired," he said when Minho hadn't responded. Minho who was still working on figuring out what it was that bothered them both. "I really think it'd be better if you gave yourself some rest." 

"I feel good."

"Do you?" Chan finally- _finally_ \- straightened himself up. His tone was strangely off again. Almost airy with how light it was. "I believe you." And it was sincere. _Still-_ "I still don't expect you to come tomorrow. I'm sure there's something you can do here."

And Chan backed himself into the hall, thumb in one direction.

"Food's on the table."

Then he was gone.

Minho sat on the floor, staring, staring _,_ at the spot his leader once stood.

What was that about?

* * *

It bothered him hours later as he laid in Jisung's bed. Jisung's feet were beside his head, mercifully socked. Jisung himself leaned against his pillows, phone sideways as he played some notes on a piano app.

Minho lifted his foot and dug his toe into the younger boy's stomach.

Jisung didn't look away from his phone as he questioned, "What?"

"Nothing," Minho answered. His attention remained fixed on the ceiling. There were cracks in the plaster. Speckled freckles. Felix crossed his mind.

"Something bugging you?" Jisung asked.

"No." Minho waited. "Something bugging you?"

"No."

Familiarity held space between them. Just long enough that it made them both aware.

"You're doing fine."

Minho tore his eyes from the ceiling. Jisung had rotated his phone back to normal, scrolling through something with a thumb. 

"If you think you're not doing good enough, I think you are. Whatever it is."

Minho lifted an eyebrow. "Where did that come from? I wasn't thinking that?"

Jisung lifted his gaze, genuinely surprised. "You weren't?"

The expression, despite Minho's bafflement, made him smile. "I'm not bothered by anything like that." Not in the way the other boy was thinking, probably.

Because once there had been doubts, and once there had been fears, insecurities of himself, in his placement of a team. But time had passed. He was comfortable. He knew he belonged. It hadn't always been like that but now it was. Elimination was a small mark where it once stung. He could sing. He could rap. He was working on his tone.

There weren't very big things to run or hide from anymore. 

There were only some things to keep quiet. Only some thing he alone could know. It wasn't such a bad thing. He was closer to his goal than ever before.

"I thought it was the comments," Jisung said.

Oh. Those.

Minho waved a hand. "They're annoying to look at. I don't think about them."

He did. Just not too much. He was careful about that.

"Then what are you thinking of?" Jisung wondered, setting his phone down at last.

"Chan-hyung," said Minho, right away, honest.

"Did he scold you?"

"No."

"Say something weird?"

"No."

Jisung half-laughed. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Is it?" Minho adjusted his position, legs draping over Jisung's, head hanging off the mattress as he laid upside-down.

Jeongin met his gaze. Minho pulled a face. Jeongin graced him with an equally hideous one in return. His headphones were in. Minho wondered if the younger boy could hear what they were talking about, and decided if Jeongin did, that he didn't really care. 

It wasn't anything deep. 

He felt Jisung pat his knee. "If hyung wasn't mad then it's nothing to worry about. What are you gonna do tomorrow?"

"Do you think I could sneak to practice?"

"Um. No? You think he can't count? He'll notice eight of us in the mirror. We all will."

"Where's your optimism?"

"Gone. Replaced with rational thought."

"Then I'll work on making abs."

" _Ohhh_ ," and Jisung was chuckling in a way that was far too humored.

Minho lifted his head slightly and squinted at the other boy. "You don't believe me?"

Jisung made a poor attempt to wipe the grin off his face. He nodded solemn. "I have faith in your efforts."

Minho snorted.

They broke into laughs.

Minho dropped his head back down and let his thoughts settle.

Maybe Chan really wasn't as concerned as Minho thought he'd be.

It was an accident anyway, that he'd fallen or tripped or fainted. Whatever the case, it happened and now it was over.

That's right.

No need to think too much. It was jarring now but tomorrow it'd be fine. It wasn't like anyone to get awkward or something like this. It was normal being exhausted sometimes.

It was fine.

He wouldn't lose any sleep over it. 

* * *

He did. 

Somehow, he did.

Minho sat at the kitchen table the next morning, staring at the wood as he ate a piece of bread. He couldn't remember falling asleep but he was certain he, at one point, had slipped into a dream coma, since he had woken on the floor of Jeongin and Jisung's bedroom as they had casually gotten dressed. Hyunjin had entered, his appearance minor and only made to 'accidentally' step on Minho's hand and double-check they were all ' _awake_ '.

Minho had plans for him later.

But not right now. It was too early. And he was stuck at home. They really had left him behind to go to the JYP building. Well- Chan wasn't one to go back on his word once it was spoken. A blessing and a curse. 

"So?"

Minho stopped drilling holes into the table with his eyes.

His manager sat in the chair across from him.

Minho echoed the question. "So?"

The dorm was somewhat muted, dismal and gray. The lights hadn't been turned on despite the fact that it was well past nine.

Maybe they were both feeling the same kind of way, in a mood, brought on by the cloudy, gloomy weather outside.

"Nothing to say?" Jaehyun wondered. 

"Is this an intervention?"

It'd been five years since they met. They'd gotten too comfortable. Jaehyun was far too good at picking him apart.

"Do you want it to be an intervention?" the man asked, not at all serious. He spread butter on his own piece of bread, and then said half a second later, "Wanna play the game?"

Minho held his gaze, stuffing his cheeks on purpose with the last of his bread. " _No._ You'd lose anyway."

"You lost last time. Twelve times in a row."

"I was letting you win." 

Jaehyun went back to eating, unconcerned. He was sure they'd end up doing something eventually- whatever it was.

It had become something of a habit, the many random things they did, from walking to the park, to throwing a baseball at the river like an odd combo of father and son. Lounging around. Dramas. A game of cards. The list was endless. 

They didn't spend all their time together, just like the members didn't either when they were off-schedule. On a day like this however there was really, seriously nothing to do. It wouldn't do any harm to occupy himself with something else. Especially if the kid was feeling social.

There was a place he'd finally found eight blocks away that sold really amazing stew. They could grab some. 

Maybe later he'd call his girlfriend.

Who knew.

The morning went by slow. He laid on the couch.

Minho emptied out their fridge and cleaned the shelves. By the time he finished it was barely past ten. He closed left side of the newly sparkling fridge with a little more force than needed. It helped, the cleaning, but not by much. He felt off-kilter.

"You think he's mad?" he wondered aloud. "Should I buy him a snack?" 

"You're going to have to be more specific," Jaehyun called in response, rolling through a thread on Twitter.

"Chan-hyung."

"Why would he be mad?"

"I dunno."

"Then he's not."

"That was very helpful hyung."

"Yes I know, you're welcome."

A good ten minutes passed.

Minho poked his head into the living room. There was a cap on his head and a mask and jacket that wasn't there prior. "I'm going."

Jaehyun lowered his phone. "Where?"

"Across the street."

Minho did a worm dance with his brows- then vanished just as quickly as he appeared.

Jaehyun got up slightly- then thinking- got up completely, following the kid as he went to the door. "I'm supposed to tell you to rest."

 _"Yes~"_ Minho put on his sneakers, voice high-pitched and suddenly silly. 

"Hey."

Minho stood and turned around. "I'll be back. I'm going to the store."

Jaehyun eyed him, not convinced in the slightest. Minho's eyes crinkled as he smiled. It was a pointless battle of wills.

Pointless because Minho would go wherever he wanted to go regardless, and because Jaehyun- despite odd misconceptions- was no one's parent, least of all a responsible one.

He sighed.

"At least call when it gets late."

Minho grinned cheekily, one foot already out beyond the threshold. "Yes sir." He was heading down the hall in the next second, leaving Jaehyun inside their dorm with nothing to say or do until a thought suddenly occurred.

He stuck his head into the hall. "Minho!"

The boy stopped near the stairs.

"What are you getting?" was the question. 

"Ice cream!" was the answer. 

In this weather? It was barely past winter.

Jaehyun contemplated. Minho waited, kindly patient.

"Bring me one back?" Jaehyun said in the end. Minho nodded, giving him a cheerful thumbs up. He bumbled down the stairs and out of sight.

Hm. Jaehyun retreated inside and closed the door. Rarely these days he thought about Minho's eccentric habits, they had become normal to the point he had grown desensitized and no longer let it bring him questions. Really, in such situations, what else was there to do? He sighed again. 

He went to the couch.

He waited.

He wound up calling his mom. 

* * *

Minho didn't bring the ice cream back.

He didn't come back at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, as always, grateful for your support. It's been a while but I'm full of cheer. This rewrite feels somewhat different to me but in a good way. I don't have a schedule for updates right now, I've been thinking of one. If I ever find one for certain, I'll let you know ^^ 
> 
> Happy Reading!


	3. |Black

“Remember when you didn’t have eyebrows?”

“Alright.” Hyunjin set his bag back down onto the couch from where he’d picked it up. “What do you want from me?”

“It’s a question,” Seungmin replied. He was unsmiling, zipping his own bag closed. “Rhetorical. I was reminiscing.”

To anyone else he appeared to be caught in some sort of deep and pensive scrutiny.

Hyunjin was not anyone else. He was this guy’s same-aged friend, more than capable of hearing the underlying humor in Seungmin’s voice. 

“Reminisce about something else.”

Seungmin made a noise beneath his breath. 

The three dance routines they’d learned were purely for practice, and they’d been challenging on purpose. He enjoyed learning new movements even if they were difficult to get at first.

Skills and improvements, Seungmin continually worked towards being better and better. He couldn't say he was completely discontent.

Lately, there were more reasons to be happy. At least- happier. 

Their fellow members moved slow, leaving at their own pace.

Chan was the first one out, followed by Jeongin and Felix, the latter two who were wiping their faces with their shirts.

Eventually Hyunjin couldn’t help it. Still at the couch, he brought it up to Seungmin. “Why were you thinking about that?”

"Your no eyebrow affair?"

"Stop saying that."

“I wasn’t really thinking about you. I was thinking of hyung.”

He must’ve meant Minho.

Hyunjin could understand why.

No one had said anything about it otherwise- the thing he was personally, privately, dubbing as ‘The Incident’. It had probably been sitting on a burner in Seungmin’s mind for a while.

“He’ll be fine. They said it was overexertion. It could've even been super excitement. You never know with that hyung.”

Seungmin held his gaze. “Are our members now doctors?”

“We could be.”

Hyunjin re-thought that.

“Two of us could be.”

Seungmin couldn't even bother to be offended. “I'm not included in that list. Am I," he stated. 

“How did you know that?” Hyunjin pretended to be shocked, eyes going wide, mouth dropping. 

There were several ways to react, several less than friendly ways, but Seungmin liked to pretend to pride himself on his self-control. As it were, he simply settled for regarding his member in an extremely flat manner.

Hyunjin flippantly waved it off. “You act responsible but I know the real you,” he said. "And it's a ridiculous persona."

“The ridiculous ones are you and Minho-hyung," Seungmin replied. "Stop dragging me into the crossfire of your pranks before one of us goes bald.”

“I think you’d take it in stride. You might even like it. We both know the most ridiculous one between us is you.”

“That’s a lie.”

“That sounds like something a liar would say.”

“Then you don't mind if I ignore you?”

"Please be my humble guest."

Jisung passed behind them with a less-than-enthused praise and suggestion. “I'm glad you guys figured this out. Can you both ignore each other so this conversation ends?" 

They’d forgotten he was there.

Jisung paid no mind to the two sets of eyes glaring at the back of his head.

He shouldered his bag and fiddled with his phone, connecting one earphone and catching up with Changbin by the practice room door. He then slipped his phone into his jacket pocket, looking to his friend-in-arms and rapping buddy.

“I’m starving. What should we eat?” he idly asked. 

Changbin, who had been putting his water bottle into his backpack with an awkward twist to his torso, managed to succeed and straighten himself out. He stepped into the hall and Jisung followed as they talked. "I was thinking of a workout first." 

"Right away?" 

"Why not?" Changbin shrugged. He glanced at Jisung. “I thought you were on a diet.”

Jisung steadfastly kept his attention ahead. “It was a mistake. I lost my will.”

A grin tugged at Changbin’s lips. He pulled up his mask before it could fully grow. Yeah, he could understand that. He'd been consistently on his own type of diet, but it wasn't one meant to cut out calories- more like eat for burning and maintaining a bulk. 

They passed a few of the trainees who had signed the slot for the room after them, exchanging tiny greetings no longer than a few nods. Once they were en route to the upper floor, Changbin posed his question. 

“You hear anything from Minho?” 

“No," Jisung acknowledged. "Might be sleeping.”

They passed through a set of glass doors and trekked along the clean and painted halls. 

“He doesn’t sleep late," Changbin said, and it was something they both knew. "Didn’t you see him this morning?”

“I meant he could be sleeping again," Jisung corrected. Then he paused. Not too hard, he jostled his older friend in the shoulder. "You should call him hyung, yeah?" 

Changbin didn't reply to that.

They stepped into the elevator.

He hit the button for ‘Ground’.

Settling opposite one another on the small rails lining the walls, he and Jisung were left alone. For a moment, Changbin was preoccupied with his mobile, checking on his messages and sending a few out.

Jisung waited for approximately ten seconds. 

“Hyung."

Changbin blinked and raised his head. The question in his eyes wasn’t one particularly concerned.

Jisung nudged his chin in the other boy’s direction, half-chuckling, though it was easy to see he was worried. “He’s gonna get mad at you sometime.”

Changbin searched Jisung’s face for a time before his attention fell back to his phone. “No he won’t.” His tone was dismissive, an easy-to-read sign that told he was moving on.

He could hear the mutter Jisung replied with under his breath, but truthfully there was little to explain.

The relationship between him and Minho was exactly as it appeared to be, dynamic, uncomplicated, questionably not complex. Like anything built on months and years and changing experience, it was a friendship that needed no label. 

Neither him nor Minho could ever be bothered to sit somewhere and discuss it.

They weren’t the sort.

There were boundaries. There were steps. There were self-designated boxes of who they were and where their lines were set beside all members.

Maybe that was why Jisung got so easily offended on Minho's behalf.

What lines he created ran parallel to Minho's own, so closely above they were sometimes mistaken for one. But they were made of different material, and perhaps that was one of the reasons why the thread of those lines had been able to weave themselves as tight together as they had.

They were distinct individuals, each side of a pair. 

Not that Jisung seemed to realize it. Or if he did, he pretended he didn’t.

Although, Changbin had an idea it was more like that when it came under the public eye. It could get awkward, constantly having it acknowledged. 

Eventually his friend would acknowledge it for himself. Eventually his friend would see it for what it was- even if it was forty years down the road and they had all separated and gone.

Changbin didn't usually involve himself directly when it came to things like that. It was certainly fascinating to watch, if not amusingly painful.

One day. 

As for himself, Changbin didn't have to be part of any pair with his hyung. He knew him. More than he spoke about. More than he bothered to share. Working out in the gym, watching videos, listening to the songs of singers they both admired, talking, talking, _talking._

It wasn't like they had to shout and let the world know when they did.

Changbin had resolved ages ago to never let himself linger on the past. There were things that hurt, things that cut, things that burned and hated and brought with it self-struggles. There were many moments. 

There was Glow. 

In that survival, in that team, Felix and Minho beside him, working towards their future.

The look Minho wore back then, as they practiced late into the night, late into the morning, worrying, working, doubting, trying, again and again- his eyes had been _afraid._ And Changbin remembered that. 

From that first instance at the lockers when they'd met- Minho smiling, bright- _unafraid,_ Changbin had wondered.

Someone with talent, to date the fastest trainee to pass JYP's forty movements of dance, who had traveled with BTS, who had been in dance crews, who had been in stadiums of tens of thousands screaming fans, on broadcasts long before any of the rest of them. Someone camera-shy, someone who hadn't quite grasped _performance_ as opposed to dancing, with a color to his voice dissimilar to the rest, who couldn't rap, who withdrew inside himself under pressure. 

It had made Changbin think back then. The learning curve Minho possessed was terrifyingly fast. But for a trainee who had joined not the team, but the _company_ , mere months before their plans for debut were set- was it fast enough? 

Changbin had found himself hoping it was.

It wasn't being on the survival show that made it so. It wasn't the certain promise of debut when it was all said it done.

It was the days spent sleeping, living in the same space, eating, learning, speaking, joking, hours of practice. It was all the uncertainties that made losing the constants something he wanted to resist.

Minho was a constant he couldn't resist. 

His responsibility as his mentor in rap, his responsibility as a teammate, as a friend. 

They were not a pair. 

They were both leaders. They were both hyungs. They were tied by the same colored thread.

Changbin and Jisung hit ground floor and stepped into the lobby.

Changbin spared his unanswered texts on his phone a faint look. They hadn't been read, but that was alright.

It had only been a little while. 

By the time he got back from the gym, they probably would've been answered. 

* * *

The decision was difficult, deciding whether to be satisfied or not. 

Minho stood outside the mart, wooden stick finishing off the last of the lemon-iced sorbet. It wasn’t his first choice, it had been his last, and he had purchased it because of that fact. The price was a sale. He had determined while looking at the freezer of options that the risk was equal to the cost. And now that he had tried it, he knew he didn't like. 

Still, he took care to eat it in its entirety, pacing himself as he stood beneath the dulled, crimson awning of the tiny mart- directly across a convenience store and at the crest of the street hill, rising from the lower boughs of the district. 

The rain was falling swift. He hadn't come prepared. He should have.

He watched the thick sheets and straight lines dropping from the clouds, bursting against the sidewalk, splattering onto carefully driving cars. The cardboard cup in his hand was frozen in the temperature, flakes of frost clinging, burning at his palm. 

He sourly puckered his lips and grimaced.

He wasn't wearing his glasses but his vision kept blurry and wet. With the weather, foot traffic was low, and he was wholly undisturbed. There was no one who passed that bothered sparing him a glance. 

It cheered him up. He had been feeling neither good or bad earlier on. 

Now he felt brightly nostalgic. 

He got to do this often when he had time off. When he went to his hometown and visited friends.

He got to be a random guy again, standing in the middle of horrible rain without an umbrella.

The only thing it was missing to bring back the better memories were his friends bumbling out of the mart from behind him, equally unprepared, hooting and making a ruckus in their tragic lament. 

Construction two blocks over had put themselves on hold. There were scaffolds draped in plastic to protect the lattices of metal, now he hoped they were protecting the heads of those who tirelessly worked on top them. 

Wasn't that a normal thing to do? Hope for others to live comfortably and okay?

Minho pondered on that for far longer than he should have, thinking of the receipt from his recent purchase, thinking of how it was crinkled in his jacket pocket when it should've been thrown away. 

He wondered. Sometimes he wondered. 

To occupy his thoughts he had randomly spent the small change he had amassed over the week.

He hated to admit to himself that it hadn't worked as well as he'd hoped. All it had done was remind him more than ever of the past, his past, that held his present and a part of the future. 

That philosophy: They're here and I'm here, so let's take care of it together. It doesn't matter. 

It was heavily ingrained, from the values of his family, to the ideals of his friends, years of doing what needed to be done, getting it done, taking care to help others do the same. 

If something cost a price, it cost. When it came to food and gifts he didn't care. When it came to important people, he didn't care. 

Not everyone understood that.

Because they couldn't. Because they never had the chance. 

Minho gnawed on the wooden stick, all that was left of his sorbet, appetite diminished. It was frustrating if he let himself dwell on it for too long. This time of the year was always something, he just never knew what. How did you predict the unpredictable yet fully written future?

He could be as careful as he wanted.

Nothing would change.

Until it did.

But he'd cross that bridge when he got there.

His phone buzzed.

Minho felt for it.

He'd been ignoring the sound for a while, not for any reasons of malice, more because he didn't feel like seeing whatever was going on just yet. He shifted his empty cup of sorbet to his right hand, and removed his phone from his jacket with his left, flailing briefly in an attempt to get it out. 

Two texts, Youtube notifications and the weekly report of how much screen time he'd averaged over the course of the last few days floated beneath the date and time neat bubbles.

He recognized Changbin’s name, starting to skim over the first sentence he could see from his locked homescreen.

_|Hey are you up? I wanted to know if you_

The rest cut off. Curious, Minho went to unlock his phone.

A thunderous crash came from inside the store.

Minho jumped, heart leaping, and turned. 

A worker in their uniformed light blue vest floundered over what had been a towering stack of boxed and frozen goods and fresh produce. Miserably, the worker stepped away from what had fallen so she could truly assess the damage.

Minho didn't think anyone could look more defeated. 

He pushed his trash into the hole of the marked outside bin and went inside. 

There was something clinical about the wide, lime-tiled floors and fluorescent lights. Something familiar in the way the heat blasted and brushed against his cheek and brow from the vents near the restrooms ahead.

When he came to such places with others it wasn’t so noticeable. When he spoke to the cashier it was just a vague memory. Alone- he didn’t prefer it much.

It was why he, in part, had chosen to eat outside in the wind and rain. 

The ticking of an old clock hung on the wall over the door echoed in his ears.

He forced the sound away.

He moved. 

The worker, Jiwon, shorter and heavier, protested weakly as Minho read her nametag. He greeted her politely, then proceeded to ignore the embarrassed arguments of- " _there's no need, you can leave it, thank you very much but please-"_ asking jovially where he could help put the boxes that had been damaged. 

She resigned to his help with the tiniest of sighs. 

Minho _hoped_ belatedly he hadn't overstepped his bounds. 

This wasn't the same mart as the one nearby their dorms. That one, close to home, was lined in potted plants and ceramic cups filled in soil and green sprouts, where a hard-lined owner and familiar cashier worked the same shift and hours. 

Minho and the members and the managers had gotten to know them in the years. A lot of those who lived nearby did. 

He sometimes spent the extra minutes and bored moments browsing inside or speaking with the cashier noona. She talked about her days and asked about his own. When the sun was out and new shipments had come in the early, pale mornings, Minho would occasionally join her stocking fresh fruit in the bins outside the door-front.

He was often on the trip returning from the gym, it wasn't an inconvenience. He bought bananas after. 

Interesting news, hobbies, his b-boying, her gardening. 

The small talks, when they happened, seemed to set the day off right. 

Minho had never actually asked, he had wanted to but kept forgetting, whether or not she had siblings. Or at the very least, nieces and nephews. There was a patience she held that made it hard to imagine she didn't. 

Few people were not filled with absolute hate by the loudness of a bunch of boys barreling into a store fifteen minutes before closing, tracking mud, dripping water, bickering over what to eat in the middle of a power outage. 

As Hyunjin had slipped and Changbin had tripped into a display of snacks by the entrance, she had simply shone her flashlight in their direction and kindly asked them if they were all okay. 

Changbin had stabbed himself in the eye with the corner of a chip bag so he really wasn't technically 'okay'. Nonetheless, fumbling, he had still helped Seungmin, Minho and the less-than-enthusiastic owner, fix the mess they made. 

Minho had vague recollections of Hyunjin standing in the corner, watching, like some apparition of horror. 

He certainly hadn't been helpful. 

Out here, three miles, a little over an hour's walk from that familiar place, Minho felt the tiny ache of wanting to be there as he lent his aid to Jiwon instead. 

He knew this area too, not as well, but there were certain restaurants and shops he visited more than others. Had it not been raining, it would've been nice to full explore the crossing streets. 

Half an hour passed. 

Work done and help successfully given, Minho shared formal pleasantries with the worker and another who had joined before departing. 

He moved his gaze towards the sky, thoughtful. In the time spent indoors, sorting the busted products and cleaning the spill, the clouds had quieted to a drizzle. 

There was still no sign of the sun.

Ah well.

With weather like this it was probably better to go on home, or go someplace else to sit and rest. 

“Cheolie no!”

A tiny toddler barreled across his path.

On instinct, Minho grabbed the zooming baby, holding them away from himself and in the air.

Big dark eyes gawked from a pudgy, blotched face. They couldn’t have been older than two.

Minho had cousins and nieces and nephews. It was like holding one of them now, in front their parents in living rooms and backyards, unsure of whether or not they’d burst into tears.

As if on cue, the baby began to squirm, mouth and nose scrunching, skin flushing red.

Minho desperately glanced in the direction the child had come from. _There._ There was the young mother, hurrying over. He brought the baby close to his chest, more terrified watching the mother in her heels. Was she coming from an office? Work? The store? 

_Please don't twist your foot._

Three bags of heavy groceries hung from her arms. The mother's long purse dangled from her shoulder, dressed in a grey overcoat, black hair neatly tied low. 

Minho felt trepidation as she came near, glancing between him and her child, exhausted but no less protective. She shifted the monumental weight of her groceries from two elbows to one, trying to set them on the sidewalk. 

He rushed to stop her before she could. 

"No, no, no-" he prayed he didn't come across as rude. "You don't need to put them on the ground," he worried. "It's wet." 

The mother stared, frazzled, out of breath, taking in his appearance from head to toe. 

Minho tried his utmost best to give her his most sincere smile. 

Her baby, gurgling and babbling noise over his shoulder, spit drool.

Carefully, hiding her embarrassment, the woman drew herself up. 

Minho broke the silence. 

Hesitant. 

“Where are you going?” 

* * *

Jaehyun wondered if he should be concerned.

Not for his job.

Not for Minho.

Moreso for his life.

“Aren’t you overreacting a bit?”

He was stooping as he asked, poking a knobbled stick in a murky puddle in the middle of a park. 

Finding nothing of interest, he straightened, flinging the stick aside. It flew a bit higher and faster than he thought, narrowly missed a jogger who’d been crossing the grass in a desperate race towards his car.

_"Oi!"_

Jaehyun offered half a wave in apology, not particularly sincere, disliking his waterlogged jeans instead. That guy shouldn’t have been running in the rain anyway. 

_“Was that a serious question?”_

The question from the other end of the phone was louder than it needed to be.

Jaehyun dug a pinky into his ear, made the unanimous to give up on the park, and headed back to the company-lent car. They didn't know he had it, he had forgotten to fill the form and no one had asked for a signature, so who exactly was to blame was up in the air. 

He'd return it soon enough. 

It was getting the mud off its doors and bumper that’d be the real issue. But maybe not the only one.

Jaehyun slowed his approach to the car. It was parked along the curb at a meter in front the very jogger whose eye he almost took out. As the man glared from behind his windshield, Jaehyun wondered for a second time just how concerned he should be for his life.

_“Did you hang up?”_

His fellow manager’s temper was rising. He could sense it.

“I didn't. Why do you sound so stressed?”

Jaehyun got into the car, eyeing the jogger through his rear view mirror who was eyeballing him back. What kind of person held a grudge in this day and age?

He didn't waste a moment, pulling onto the road. Still, he kept mindful of the rain and set his phone on speaker. Then he tossed it in the passenger seat so he could drive hands-free. Donggyu’s voice, as expected, had grown louder.

_“Of course I’m stressed. How do you lose someone who was in the same room as you?”_

“I didn’t lose anyone.” He turned a corner, idly flicking on his windshield wipers. “They’re not prisoners you know. And I’m not a babysitter.”

_“You were supposed to be one today.”_

“For a grown kid? Make some sense.”

 _“I hate you,”_ said his same-aged friend.

"That's fine," he said back. 

There was a significant pause.

Jaehyun waited.

Donggyu spoke.

_“Are you driving?”_

“Am I not allowed?”

_“The keys for the vans are here. Both of them.”_

“And?”

_“...What are you driving?”_

Jaehyun leaned over, eyes on the road. “Is this a tunnel?”

_“Hey-”_

He ended the call. Another one came in.

Jaehyun looked at the name on-screen and sighed.

Well- it wasn’t entirely unexpected he guessed.

He stopped at a red light, and after another moment of listening to the ringtone, answered.

“Yes?”

 _“Hyung.”_ A slight second of silence. _“You went out?”_

“I sure did," he responded.

_“With the weather like this?”_

He hummed in a manner wholly non-committed. Chan hummed back.

The kid, as usual, sounded far too speculative.

Jaehyun wished he could be surprised. In the background, he heard a familiar sound. He raised his brows. “You outside?”

_“Oh I’m on a walk.”_

“In the rain?”

_“I sure am.”_

Cheeky. That was expected too.

“How did you figure?” Jaehyun wondered. His intrigue was sincere. 

_“Call it a hunch. At least I have his phone.”_

“Where are you? Want a ride?”

 _“No, that’s alright. I’ll be fine. But if you don’t hear from me in an hour or so feel free to give me a ring,”_ the younger boy laughed.

“Will do.”

The light turned green. His phone began vibrating, indicating a same-time, second call.

Jaehyun stared at it, dismayed.

When had it ever been this busy in the span of twenty minutes?

_“Hyung?”_

“I’ll catch up with you later.”

Chan chuckled. Jaehyun's phone beeped. Both ending and arriving call stopped.

He pulled into the lot of the Starbucks, off the shoulder of the next right turn, and rolled into the drive-through. His phone rang again.

Jaehyun sighed, truly an exhale of all his life's energy- and picked up the call.

He held it near the wheel.

“Jisung-ah.”

 _"Uh. Hey hyung,"_ the band member's awkward voice filtered through. _“We got back to the dorms a while ago but Donggyu-hyung just said you lost Minho. What does that mean?”_

 _“He ratted me out-”_ Jaehyun uttered.

_“What-?”_

“I’m at Starbucks. What do you and the others want?”

_“No, go back a second hyung, what did you just say-”_

“Another tunnel?"

_"Hyung-"_

He made some noises of static and pressed the red button. 

He texted Donggyu.

_|Traitor._

Donggyu's reply was swift.

_|You’re gonna have fun getting the mud off the company car._

A moment later- 

_|Grab me Americano?_

* * *

In the end, Minho had frantically flagged down a cab.

When he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and flew into a bright red postage box, his hands were, mercifully, free of any child.

Sooyeon had watched from afar, mildly concerned, as her baby tried to waddle around her in circles on his exceptionally small legs.

His name was Sungcheol and he was one year and nine months old as Minho had learned during their brief time spent politely, passively, debating on whether the young mother needed help returning to her home.

Sooyeon was respectfully wary of strangers, and Minho was equally, respectfully worried for the amount of burden she carried. Idea igniting, he had insisted on paying for a cab, and insisted on finding one so, _“please stay here, I’ll have one soon!”_

Hence his brief adventure.

She had thanked him profusely, tucking her groceries and her son inside the backseat of the orange taxi, vibrant color muted in the rain.

It wasn’t normally done or perceived as a good deed to someone who could afford their own, yet Minho fumbled with the small cash he had, bowed and took off before she could protest-

And before he could feel any proper humiliation with the way he’d made off.

He couldn’t say how long he walked along the streets after the affair. 

There was a park of mulch and grass and trees, exercise playthings, two slides, a jungle-gym and overhead bar ladder.

He'd gone in, amusing himself with the slide and tackling the bars, making one attempt to go at them upside-down with only his legs before he realized what a terrible idea it'd been. 

Feet and clothing soaked, Minho had then went across the street into a family-owned bookstore that he knew served as a library as well. It wasn't so far off from the dorms. 

It also used to be a cafe, the architecture and decor more cute than formal, equipped with a dark teal-tiled roof, with an assortment of hanging plants and yellow-striped awning. The walls were white and pastel pink, the furniture wooden and boasting an appealing, handmade appearance though they were not.

There had been few people inside as he had scrapped the mud on his shoes off on the thick, rubber mat by the glass door. Those who were there, largely occupied the single square tables by the standing windows, books or tablets in hand.

All dressed warm. All comfortingly quiet.

The table window close to the back wall and corner was perfectly empty.

Minho had greeted the elderly man behind the counter that acted for book purchases and rentals. Then he had wandered the rows of well-stocked shelves, grabbing two comics of the series he had been following and three random new ones that caught his eye.

Last minute he had doubled back to take a thick paperback of poems with the sole intention of attempting to stimulate his brain with what Felix liked to call ‘higher thinking’.

Still, it was the comics he took his time with first.

Getting lost was easy.

It’d been a hobby since he was a kid. He’d probably never really outgrow it. There was a hyung he’d known, now in his thirties, who consistently kept up to date with the releases of his favorite animations.

Oh well.

Being concerned over something like that wasn’t something he’d be. So long as he’d never have to set foot in a field with a ball, namely a soccer ball, he’d forever read.

As he finished the first round of readings and stood to place them back where they belonged, his thoughts wandered, going further and further, curiously, down the calmly waiting trails of his brain.

He hoped the young mother he had met managed to return home safely.

He hadn’t talked to his mom in a while.

He missed her.

She was the one who sent videos of his cats being fickle, sitting or sleeping cutely the most.

Though he’d been able to visit home more often the past few months, the homesickness sometimes- _sometimes_ \- clung beneath his skin.

Sungcheol had reminded him of the photos Minho’s aunt often showed him of her friends’ babies. She was unmarried herself but had expressed her desire for a young baby of her own many times, mostly insisting it was so she could shower her child with affection and raise them to be as well-mannered as Minho.

Not that Minho thought he was particularly good. He did the things he thought was right.

There was the young kid from years ago he had started caring for, through an organization for underprivileged children, and the tiny contributions to groups for education and safety for those marginalized.

He hadn’t volunteered at a shelter in a good long while, but even if they were rare and few in between, there were days when he visited. 

Always helping.

Not out of obligation.

Because he wanted to.

Other people didn’t have to see it.

Minho stood gazing at the shelf of poems. There were certain people, however, he wished could.

_Is it so hard for them to accept it?_

“What’s this? You’ve become an intellectual?”

His swiftly darkening line of consciousness was halted then and there by an entertained voice he knew well.

Minho looked to his left.

A shorter but same-aged friend leaned on the tall storage cart he wheeled, partially full of neatly stacked books. A half-apron was tied loosely around his slacks. His long-sleeved sweater was comfortably well-worn.

Eunjae lifted a hand in greeting. “Yo.”

They shared a pointlessly, complex handshake and bumped elbows.

Eunjae was the eldest son of the bookstore's owner. Minho had spoken with him almost right away the first visit he'd made into the store a year and a half ago. The energy between them rarely ever changed.

Casual and free. 

Today was no different, even with the dismal weather.

"I've seen worse," Eunjae commented on the storm, voice haunted. "Nothing like the fall four years ago." 

"Are you eighty-five years old?" Minho joked. 

Eunjae's mischievous grin could chase shadows away. "You kidding? You have have any idea how wise I'd be if I was?" He placed a hand on his brow as if deeply burdened. "I'm already so smart. What would I do with that kind of power?"

Eunjae, for all his joking, _was_ incredibly smart.

It reminded Minho of their last meeting. “How did your exams go?” he asked.

“Cancelled,” Eunjae bragged, his excitement not at all dimmed when he added, “Well postponed. But I’ll take it. The weekend felt free.”

The other boy was aiming for a business degree.

His initial reasoning had been to help learn the trade for his parents’ sake, however it had changed over the passing months as his interest in the field grew. He had set his sights higher on one day opening and running his own business. Even a chain.

_‘Wouldn’t that be neat? I could make my face the logo'._

Minho believed he could do it. It was only a matter of when. He opened his mouth to ask how Eunjae’s siblings were when another worker turned the corner and approached where they were in the aisle. 

Minho didn’t recognize this one.

He was maybe around the same age- but far, far taller than them both.

Eunjae glanced over his shoulder, nonplussed. “Oh Jinwoo. I thought you got lost,” he said in welcome.

“You left me on the ladder,” was the other boy’s response.

He caught sight of Minho and they politely greeted one another at the same time Eunjae genuinely asked-

“Why do you need a ladder? Aren’t you tall enough?”

"Making me climb things in your place just makes you shorter you know." 

Minho watched in returning good-humor as the two gave each other annoyed looks. 

_“Anyway.”_ Eunjae stepped closer to Minho. He patted him on the arm several times, gesturing at his coworker. “Woo, _t_ _his_ is the one I always tell you about. You chose a good day to grab an extra shift!”

Minho blinked.

Jinwoo did too.

They stared at one another, equally questioning and confused. 

Seeing the befuddlement, Eunjae rose to his toes, and both proudly and sheepishly raised a hand, whispering in Minho’s ear behind it.

_“You’re my only celebrity friend. I couldn’t help it.”_

Minho almost laughed. His ears flushed.

He wasn’t embarrassed by the words. He was embarrassed that he’d been talked about so much that Eunjae’s friend apparently already had some impression of him before they’d ever met.

Minho had tugged his mask to his chin while reading.

Now he fought the urge to pull it back up.

He awkwardly, lopsidedly smiled.

Jinwoo's expression was full of dawning realization. He glanced towards Eunjae.

“I see what you mean,” he said.

“Right?” Eunjae agreed.

Minho shifted, feeling strange, unsure of whether to take it as a compliment or as some sort of offense. Jinwoo must’ve seen the apprehension Minho wore because he was swift to say-

“Please don’t take it in a wrong way. I was shown a music video.” He mulled over his next comment carefully. “You looked...different. But!” he hurried to rectify his words. "I can tell it's you."

“That’s a great way of putting it,” Eunjae enthused, clapping the taller boy on the back with a loud laugh he wasn’t even close to being apologetic about.

His eyes went to Minho’s.

 _Those_ were apologetic.

“I showed God’s Menu first. It’s your most popular, and a really awesome song." 

Ah.

Oh.

Minho was really smiling now. Only partially suffering. 

"He’s probably confused since I paused in the beginning, you know, the part with your rapper buddy in the front. You had the the frying pan,” Eunjae expanded, using his hands to describe as best he could. “I tried zooming it but-” he helplessly shrugged. “It was freakishly blurry.”

That's right.

Their first full-length album.

The comeback had certainly been something. Exciting, addictive, new.

Hard work for all of them in all tracks, with a title whose style they were praised for musically and aesthetically as a new genre. It was their most highly viewed video to date. His team was his pride. He loved what they released. 

The editing had been so incredible it seemed whoever was behind it had forgotten to show Minho's face. It had caused a _minor_ issue among fans. 

He'd be glad to set the whole experience behind him, the awkwardness and disappointment that came with it. And he had. Now it was just a sting. The only trauma to come out of it was the vague sense of wonder every time they watched a new music video, curious of how exactly much of him they'd put in. 

Minho _did_ have to wonder why Eunjae thought that specific MV was the way to introduce him.

The God’s Menu debacle on his behalf had, however, served to remind him how remarkably involved in his closest friends from home had been following his life. Over the phone, one of them had confessed-

_“Those letters your fans were sending. I sent one too. Anonymously”._

Of course Minho had been taken aback. _“Ahh! That’s so embarrassing! What?”_

_“They don’t know it’s me!"_

_"What??"_

_"It's the passion of our friendship. Shouldn't you feel honored?”_

_“It wasn’t a big deal! Ah- seriously-”_

_“They edited you out-”_

_“I’m hanging up!”_

_“Fine! Call me when you get more screentime Lee Minho, Lee Know!”_

And Minho had gone to hang up, stomping down the dusk evening street before he recalled- _“Wait. The musical we’re seeing-”_

_“Oh yeah. I got the tickets-”_

So the argument had ended.

“We watched Back Door too,” Eunjae consoled, reigning Minho back into in the present when the silence among the trio had stretched on for too long. "And your other videos. Actually- I don't know why he's acting confused." 

He gave Jinwoo a pointed look that didn’t go missed by anyone.

Admirably, Jinwoo did his best to react.

“Yes, you’re very handsome,” he told Minho.

Minho decided to have pity on the other worker for engaging in the interaction.

Like he'd said, once long ago, fame wasn’t why he’d become an idol. He stuck by that without fail.

He thanked the taller boy for the compliment and said full of kindness that it’d been nice to see them both, then excused himself after to find more books to read.

Though he paused before he truly left the aisle, rounding on his heel to smile more genuinely Jinwoo's way.

Minho offered a playfully sincere, deep bow.

“Please continue to support our Stray Kids. We’ll do our best.”

When he straightened Eunjae was beaming and offering an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

"You got it!" the boy said. "I’m your number one fan! Next time go for a new look. One that makes you stand out, like the red hair.”

“Then next time I’ll go bald.”

“Please look for my comments when you do.”

Jinwoo looked so far out of his element during the exchange it was hard for Minho to tamper down the silly grin that rose. 

A testament to his good personality, Jinwoo tried his best once more. He gave Minho a thumbs up, hesitant and for some reason crooked.

"Yes. Fighting." 

Eunjae's next laugh was louder than before. 

Minho left them kindly.

He explored the small library some more and sat down to read again, remembering as he did to check the time. But as he absentmindedly to his pocket to see, he found it was gone.

Panic- for an instant- he fumbled over his newly grabbed comics.

Apologetically nodded to those who turned to look at him.

Stared at his table and retraced his steps.

At the dorm?

No.

He’d left with it, remember?

On the street?

If that was the case then it was as good as gone.

He slumped over and dropped his head on his stack of books. He really, really hoped not. Forget the expense- all his contacts and photos and videos of his family, friends and cat siblings…

He unleashed a muffled, resigned groan of frustration he could only hope had been done in his head after it came out.

For a while longer, Minho sat like that. Then he straightened up.

Then he returned to his comic.

What else was he supposed to do?

Call someone?

He didn’t feel like going through the stress, so he didn’t.

So he read.

Immersing himself until God’s Menu, until idol performances, fans and the reality around him slipped into the furthest recesses of his mind.

When he felt as though another hour or so had passed, Minho called it a day and went to return his books.

“Going home?” asked the elderly man from before as he saw Minho stretching his arms above his head. Eunjae’s grandfather.

Minho nodded.

“Don’t take too long. Seems like a bigger storm is coming.”

Minho’s mouth rose, cheeks lifting, visible for the slightest before his mask hid them from view. “Yes, I’ll be careful. Please take care.”

Eunjae’s grandfather shared the smile.

Minho left, stepping into the mist and still drizzling skies. He shivered, gazing up, feeling the deep rumble of thunder in his chest.

It signaled, as warned, a rougher storm ahead. 

One that might even shoot lightning. That’d be neat. Minho wouldn’t ever try to get struck by it on purpose. But. 

Attention diverted, his eyes went to the park across the street he had run through before.

His clothes had mostly dried, damp yet not overly uncomfortable. He bet the ladder bar and slides had dried somewhat too.

Yes.

He should go home.

“ _How fast, how far do you think you can go?”_

_“I’ll make it farther than you!”_

It was a familiar echo in his ears. 

Minho headed for the park.

...He supposed he hadn’t been wrong, had he?

* * *

“What do you think happened?”

“Why do you assume something happened? People can go where they want.”

Jisung did his utmost best not to scowl, not because he was annoyed by the words, but because he was currently on one of their chairs in the kitchen, attempting to properly pin their drooping curtain. Fans had commented on it enough in their lives. 

“True. People can go anywhere. But maybe not.”

“Maybe not?” Hyunjin scoffed, free of malice. “What does that mean?”

He was cooking on the stove, manner lackadaisical, reading the back of the package of dried mushrooms he held.

“ _Healthy_ people should go where they want. Though most wouldn’t when it storms.”

“Mmhm.”

“You don’t sound concerned.”

“Because I’m not.”

"I'll make sure to tell hyung that whenever it gets back." 

"Mm, go ahead." 

Jisung struggled with the center of the curtain. One thumb tack wasn’t enough. He lowered his palm and reached behind him blindly. Jeongin put one in his palm- point down.

Jisung yelped, wobbling, his hold on the curtain dropping as he clutched his hand.

Hyunjin glanced over.

Jisung looked at their youngest member, expression and voice wounded. “This is because I exposed your horrible memory on idol, isn’t it? That’s mean even for you.” 

“What?” Jeongin drew his eyes away from the wall, refocusing. He seemed to realize what had happened because he quickly apologized and grabbed Jisung’s hand, checking it for himself. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Yeah." Jisung watched him. He tracked the minuscule changes on the Jeongin's expression. Distracted, brows lowered- a thinking face. And not about Jisung's hand. “What’s up?” he wondered.

No reply. Jeongin had zoned out again.

Jisung waved his other hand cautiously in front his teammate's face. Jeongin looked startled- then Jeongin looked sweet. He stopped examining the nonexistent injury to his hyung's hand and shuffled back. 

“It’s nothing. Sorry,” he apologized once more.

Curtain forgotten, Jisung got off the chair and steadied himself on the floor. That thing could wait. It wasn't like his efforts were working anyway. 

It was annoyingly resilient.

“You’ve been kind of quiet today, huh?”

Jeongin's expression was pensive. “I must've slept weird. Or it's something like one those days.”

Jisung absolutely didn’t believe him. But he never got the chance to pry further. Hyunjin, who’d been watching them, suddenly called Jeongin over.

“Wanna help me cook?”

Jeongin handed the tiny tin of thumb tacks to Jisung and hurriedly joined the other boy by the stove like he couldn’t wait to escape. “What’re you making?” he questioned.

Jisung took the obvious hint Hyunjin had given.

_'Leave him alone.'_

He could’ve rolled his eyes.

Well whatever it was, Hyunjin would eventually weedle it from the youngest- or if it was serious enough- Jeongin would later come around and share.

Hopefully.

He scratched the back of his head and left the pair to the mystery meal Hyunjin was experimenting with, making for his room.

When he threw himself on his bed, it was sideways, with a bounce. 

He tucked an arm beneath his head on top his pillow. 

For a while he thought of nothing. For a while he listened to the downpour.

Then he rolled onto his back and set his hands on his stomach.

Afternoon- yet the room stayed thunderously gray.

He didn’t _seek_ Minho out. He always said it. And that was true.

Still, it wouldn’t be a _bad_ thing if Minho meandered his way home from wherever he’d gotten off too. Just so Jisung could check in- because he was bored. 

Yes.

Discreetly.

Or directly.

It wouldn’t matter too much.

Minho was doing just fine and Jisung knew that.

He knew that. 

But.

Jeongin had come, pale and baffled, from the building to their van.

Jeongin had opened the side door, looking, _sounding_ small, asking for Jisung to check the practice room Minho was supposed to be coming from- _because they had talked on the phone not too long ago on their return from dinner, and Minho had_ agreed _to catch a ride to the dorm-_

Jisung had unbuckled himself. Changbin had gone with him.

It wasn't what they thought they'd find. 

Changbin had gone back to get their manager and Chan.

That was that. That was how it had happened. 

No reason. No explanation. 

Jisung’s gaze stayed on the plaster above.

He didn’t like it.

The discomfort. 

The unease he kept feeling.

Maybe _he_ should be the one sleeping. Until it went away.

* * *

In the kitchen, Jeongin slowly stirred the pot. 

* * *

_He was laughing._

* * *

Someone laughed.

“What the hell are you doing?”

It was the first thing Minho heard in what felt to be a hundred years over the raging storm and thunder.

He opened his eyes and turned his head, for a moment shocked. He smothered it down and away, unable to help the smile that came.

“Is this a nightmare?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Chan bent sideways, bundled warm, cap on, one hand holding him steady as he peered into the dark, damp dome.

Minho had found it by the bushes behind a pair of trees on another patch of mulch and dirt. It was, he guessed, some sort of red, plastic contraption for kids to climb onto and hide within.

Now he watched as Chan’s eyes search the cramped and poorly lit hovel, taking stock.

A high-pitched tone of humor was in the forefront of Chan’s voice when he next spoke. His gaze fell on Minho, delighted. “I’m not interrupting anything am I? No spells or otherwise demonic activity?”

Minho wiggled his fingers. “ _Wingardium leviosa._ Harry Potter."

The demented expression he adopted did nothing to hide the cheer he felt. It was like a dream.

Maybe he was hallucinating.

Unless his friend had stuck some sort of member-tracking device, he didn't know how his leader would come to find him. 

Chan ducked into the space.

Minho immediately pinched his hand.

“Ow! _What-_ this is the thanks I get?”

“I'm making sure you're not a ghost.”

No exaggeration by any means.

Soaked and pale, made paler by the cold and by the torrential pour, Chan appeared horribly drowned, sweats mucked in sludge. It _seemed_ like he'd spent his time swimming in a bog. 

“Why do you look like that?” Minho laughed.

Chan swatted at him. “Have you seen yourself? Move over.” He shuffled further in and took a place at Minho’s side, incredulous. “Were you sleeping?”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you. Was it not obvious?”

"Why would it be?" 

Chan ignored the question, dropping a familiar weight into Minho’s lap. “You left this.”

Joy surged in Minho’s blood. _“Yaa!”_ He held his phone with glee.

 _Was_ this a dream?

He honestly had been resting his eyes. 

During his second round of antics in the park, the clouds had broken apart and unleashed an onslaught he could never say he hadn’t been warned about. 

He had ducked into this makeshift shelter as soon as he could, crawling, feeling like a kid again- remembering being a kid again- _reliving a memory_ \- until it had been too much to stay within it. 

Filling the time, his brain had been a whiteboard of sketches, lyrics of ballads, and quite serious contemplation over whether a basket of fruit or a bundle of socks served better use. Neither would’ve been for him. The thought was more so for his leader who he felt he'd somehow inconvenienced yesterday- though he knew he hadn't. 

Not truly. 

Minho was sure Chan wouldn’t understand the gesture, not completely, but knew his friend would accept it nonetheless. Chan always did, humble and grateful.

Minho thought it was weird- and he was proudly certified in the general business of bizarre happenings. However, Minho would never say anything against it. Chan’s happiness was a well-deserved, welcome sight. A lot of things his friends and family and cats did was cute, but sometimes- _sometimes-_ Chan had an edge. 

Right now he was just smelly. And looked like a mop. Minho didn't doubt he looked like that too.

He glanced between Chan and his phone. The older boy was occupied with twisting the water from his curls. 

“How’d you find us?”

Chan lifted a brow. “Us?”

“Me and my phone.”

Chan’s eyes brightened. “I was hoping you'd ask. You wouldn’t believe me.”

Minho poked him. "Share. I’ll pretend to believe whatever you say.”

“Thanks. That really comforts me,” replied Chan with no sincerity. 

"I've been working on my manners. I'm glad you can see my improvement," responded Minho with no sense of seriousness. 

They shared a glance and snickered, riding the wave of giddiness that often rose in the spaces they sat in together. 

“I’ll tell you if you really want to know," Chan said a second after. 

Minho could see how tickled his friend was. “If you want to tell me,” he encouraged. He smiled at his phone once more- then tucked it away, zipping his jacket pocket tight. He gestured with a hand.

A universal ‘go on’.

Chan brushed his bangs back, pondering on how to best start. “I. Hm. Well." He went for it. "I pretended I was you.”

Minho’s expression blossomed, bright, entertained by the words. “How did it go?”

“Not too bad,” Chan mused. He held Minho’s gaze for a moment. His eyebrow quirked. The corner of his lip did too. “You think I'm lying?”

“No one can be me.”

“True.” Chan’s grin kept growing. “But I’ve got a sixth sense.”

“Oho? A sixth sense that lets you find your members?" Minho's own grin returned. "As expected of Stray Kids’ leader, _Bang Chan_ ,” he jokingly praised, saying his leader's name with unneeded emphasis.

Chan dropped a hand on Minho’s knee, giving it a shake. “Be quiet. Let me tell a story, will you?” he chuckled.

“Don’t make it boring.”

Chan pat Minho’s knee and kept his hand there, not bothering to move it afterwards as he explained. “We got back from practice. You weren’t there-”

“I said not to make it boring-”

“-we could wrestle here if you wanted. I feel extra strong right now-”

“-I’ll pass, please continue.”

“Like I _said_ , I figured you must’ve gone out. I thought I’d see what you were getting up to. Check how you were. Kill time. The workers at the mart across said you hadn’t come in but one of them saw you heading in this direction. You take a lot of alleys and weird turns but usually end up on the main streets. I really just walked inside the six marts between here and home and checked them out. It was kind of fun.”

Minho didn't have to say anything. His expression did it for him. 

Chan tugged the ear closest to him, lightly. "Don't judge me." 

"I would never." 

“I took my time," Chan said. "If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t in a rush. I ate ramen too. My shoes got wet and I’ve been bummed about it this whole while, but the next mart, the one closest here, you left your phone in. It was sitting at the register when I checked out.”

“What did you check out?”

“That’s not important.”

“What’s in your pocket?”

They took a break from Chan’s story to fight with their hands over the snacks hidden in the older boy’s pockets, pushing and pinching and pulling. The next time Chan returned to his tale, Minho was finishing off a tiny bag of gummies.

“If your phone was there, I guessed you really couldn’t have gone much father. But I’ll be honest when I say I had no idea if you knew you’d left it behind or not. When I walked outside next, after a bit, I recognized the bookstore.”

Minho would hope he did. They went to rent books and comics there sometimes together.

He said as much out loud, returning the empty package of gummies to Chan’s jacket.

His leader snorted.

“Eunjae's grandpa said you'd been in there but he wasn't sure where you went. I sat at the table in the corner by the window for a while, and I was looking at the park. Then I looked at the swings and the slide and I was like- 'oh? doesn’t this seem like something he would slide down and laugh about all weirdly? I bet he crawled and sat inside that dome thing behind the bushes too.’ I thought some more about how it was pouring and assumed you’d wait it out. So I came over to see if I was right.” 

Minho gaped.

Chan cleared his throat. He began smoothing a wrinkle in his pants. “What?"

Minho was deathly silent.

In fact he was silent for so long that Chan's fracture of worry became a streak of realization.

He raised his head and faced Minho. “ _No-!”_

Minho was already patting his leg. “ _Ahh_ as expected of the leader, _Bang Chan-!_ ”

They scuffled lightly, Minho trying to shake him over enthusiastically, Chan trying to fend him off.

“There’s no one like _Bang Chan_ -”

“No, cut it out-”

“Someone? Is there anyone better?”

“ _Uggggh-”_ Chan grabbed Minho by the collar and throttled him gently. “Stooop. That's embarrassing!”

Minho slumped and played dead.

Huffing, Chan released his friend before slapping him fondly on the chest. “Don’t do that,” he chided, seeing Minho’s head sliding on the dirty interior of the dome.

He slipped his arm along Minho’s neck and leaned him off the plastic wall.

They listened to the rain.

“How long do you think it’ll rain for?” Minho questioned.

“I dunno.” Chan gazed towards the curved roof of their shelter as if it would give him any answers. “Could be a while.”

They settled in the quiet. 

The minutes slipped away.

Above them, on their shelter, the downpour was a peaceful, timeless drum. Nothing to do except wait it out. There wasn’t much elsewhere to go. It was gross and wet and Minho was sure there were reasons to complain. But there wasn’t any need to anymore.

Chan was here. That was good enough.

They could ride the bus to the dorms together if they felt lazy enough. Or they could sit and stay longer. Either way, the day was mostly gone.

Their mindset seemed the same.

There wasn't any rush.

He told Chan as much, who merely agreed, and they bumped shoulders, playing rock, paper, scissors for no reason except that they could. Shortly after, they stretched out their legs.

Their sneakers knocked against one another's.

“Hey, Minho.”

Minho made some sort of noise.

“What were you doing?”

The rain continued to fall.

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

Minho listened to the storm.

“What about it?”

Chan listened to it too.

That steady, muted drum.

“Were you upset?”

Two friends together. Sitting away from the world. Knowing and unknowing. Thinking. 

Chan's words made Minho think. 

Thinking. It wasn’t the words that made Minho think.

“No.”

He kept his ears towards the lashing of the rain.

“Why would I be upset?”

Galaxies and stars.

A shooting arc across the sky.

His eyes were far above.

His eyes were on the wall ahead, unblinking.

“I was probably being reckless.”

“...Only probably?”

“...Probably.”

Hushed.

The park was still.

Then Chan sighed. A big, huge rush of air. His knuckles from the arm around Minho’s shoulder rose, gently, kindly, all too familiarly, rapping the side of his head.

How unfair.

It felt like coming back to home.

“You know what I always say,” his friend began. “Here to listen. Here to help.”

Minho knew.

He was lucky.

There were few others like Chan.

Minho sat and wondered. Minho contemplated.

This far on the road they'd walked along, this far along his career, for what it was- _for the numbers on a receipt_ -

He could tell him. 

Wouldn’t that be alright?

Because eventually. When it happened. When the choice came.

Wouldn’t it be worse to be alone?

“Hyung.”

“Mm?”

Muted downpour on their heads.

_I can tell him._

“Hyung, there's something I've-”

Chan’s cellphone rang.

They leapt in surprise.

Hit their heads on the wall and then against one another's and simultaneously yelped and groaned.

“Why is your skull so hard?” Minho cried, pulse soaring at the unexpected noise.

Chan held his aching forehead. “Sorry!” he winced. He answered his phone. “Ah, no hyung. Actually- we’re in the park….”

Minho half-listened.

There was a pounding in his ears.

He touched his forehead, distracted, rubbing where it hurt.

He kept rubbing, even when the hurt stopped.

Whatever certainty he’d felt had swiftly fled.

He almost laughed to himself when he realized.

_Ah... I almost told him._

His fingers trembled. He forced them to still.

_Reckless._

Easy. No stress.

A little longer.

In five or six years.

Then he’d tell Chan. Then he’d tell the rest.

Surely, by then, things would be different too.

“Hey.”

Minho put on a smile as Chan drew his attention.

As his leader crawled out from their shelter and beckoned him to follow.

Minho did as told.

They straightened up and stood and did the best they could to wipe themselves off.

Chan looked at his teammate and friend. He ran his eyes curiously over the younger boy, noticing the absentmindedness, the hesitance, the sheer depth of the definition of _thought,_ bleeding from the Minho's face.

"You okay?" he asked. 

Minho met his gaze.

He smiled.

"Yes." 

"What were you saying before?"

Minho laughed small and waved it off. 

"Nothing. It's not really that important."

For the first time that day as Chan accepted his words, as Chan returned the smile-

Minho felt the black dirt soaking his hands wet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the biggest joke of the year how I told myself I'd make this chapter short. I am the joke.


	4. |White

Jeongin had known.

"Was it worth it?" 

"You're blocking the screen." 

"But was it worth it?"

"Go away." 

In the living room, made gray by the night before's storm, Jisung gripped a package of tissues.

His legs were spread, mostly to avoid stepping on his leader who was resting on the floor underneath him, but also in preparation for if he needed to squat and duck again. He really, really wished his teammates would stop tossing snacks at his head in response to his reasonable concern. 

He huffed. 

"The things I do for your own good- and this is how you treat me?"

Minho made an impressive effort not to roll his eyes as hard as he was probably capable of. As it were, he merely made an ugly face at his friend and pressed further into the confines of the corner of the couch he had taken up residence in. 

They were going to have to disinfect spray that.

"Come sit and watch," Minho told him, carrying a note of exasperated annoyance in his tone. 

Good. At least they felt the same way. 

Jisung withdrew. "So it's like that." His laugh was a scoff of disbelief. 

Minho returned to holding his pillow, staring him down. "It's like that. Sit and watch," he repeated.

Jisung scoffed again. He flung the package of tissues at his teammate's chest as vague sounds of carnage and fighting rose from the TV. 

Hyunjin, from the other end of the couch, finally spoke up. 

"Just let him suffer."

He shared a bowl of pretzels with Changbin. Not even blinking, Changbin leaned forward.

Minho’s pillow soared into the side of Hyunjin’s head.

Jisung rolled his eyes. He stepped over Chan's body and plopped himself down into the empty space left between Minho and the others, right before Hyunjin could toss something bigger in retaliation. Like the two-liter bottle of Coke on the foot table in front of them. 

Recognizing his tiny victory, Minho smiled smug.

It wasn't as impressive to look like with the snot coming from his nose- and Jisung told him just as much. He also took the time to give the older boy an impressive look of disgust as Minho ripped open his tissue package and obnoxiously blew his nose. 

"You're gross." 

"Would you like to hold these?"

" _No_ -"

Cozy under his blanket, chin resting on his arms, Chan calmly intervened. "I can't hear what they're saying. Shush."

At least, that’s what they assumed he said. 

Jisung listened to the nonsensical jargon that had come from his leader and sighed. “I see. I’m the absurd one when it was you two lying around in the middle of a storm having a mud-fight and playing games. That makes sense.”

“Be beren't bying babound bor bowing bud," Chan defended. 

“What are you saying?” Hyunjin asked. Their attention had long-since been diverted from the comedy film that'd been on. 

Chan twisted his head slightly around. “Bu bow bhut I bed," he said.

Hyunjin, one hand in the pretzel bowl, stared. “What?”

"Bunbin-"

"Who's _Bunbin_ -"

“We were on vacation,” Minho said over Hyunjin and Chan's equally rising distress. "If you wanted to join in, you should've come to find us."

“I will hit you,” Jisung told him.

“You can’t hit your elders.”

“What about a sick fool?”

Minho poked the top of Chan’s blanket with his foot. “You hear that?”

Chan tore his gaze from Hyunjin and twisted around some more. “Bey're _binor_ bolds, buys, bey'll be bon baborrow." 

"Something about Berry," Hyunjin muttered.

“Hyung, you sound way worse than Minho-hyung,” Jisung commented.

“That’s what happens when you get old,” Minho mentioned. “You get weaker.”

“Bor biterally bun beer bunger," Chan said with an air of eternal suffering. Partially because of Minho. Partially because it was apparent speaking aloud with words that actually sounded like words, was a useless effort. He was exhausted. 

Changbin, who had been taking the conversation in stride, grabbed the remote and rewound what they had missed. 

Jisung exhaled. He slouched where he sat. He hoped he sounded exactly as stressed as he felt. 

A moment after, he glanced over. 

As expected, Minho was looking at him, a crooked smile on his lips. 

"What?"

"I'm fine." And Minho pushed him just a bit with his elbow, genuine warmth in his voice as he giggled. "Your concern is appreciated."

Jisung elbowed him back. "Good." 

In the hallway, listening to the good mood of the living room grow, listening to the common chatter and familiar reassurances, Jeongin frowned. 

Troubled, he retreated.

Troubled, he knew.

 _You're lying._

* * *

Minho hadn’t been dancing.

“You look distracted.”

In the early afternoon of the pale, pale day, Felix sat across Jeongin with a light smile.

Jeongin spun his spoon around his bowl of cereal, morosely. Watching the flakes drown. “That isn’t anything new,” he said.

“Okay,” Felix laughed, but it was an unsure one. “You’re sounding pretty serious. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” Jeongin dragged his spoon through his milk clockwise once more before he sighed and let it rest in the bowl. He raised his head. His friend’s face was welcoming and waiting, but more importantly, concerned.

Yes.

That’s what Jeongin must’ve been feeling too.

Concern.

Not anxiety. Not agitation. Not dread.

Most likely… _it’s an unimportant worry._

He deliberated, rethinking.

“There's a question I have.”

"Go for it," encouraged his hyung.

Jeongin kept thinking. Should he mind his own business? Figure it out for himself?

Felix’s smile was now half on.

 _Don’t make him wonder,_ Jeongin chastised himself. Among the team, he wasn’t the one who did that.

Wasn’t that right.

“If someone you knew was hurting. What would you do about it?”

Felix observed him closely. He fixed himself in the chair, facing their youngest member straight on. His fingers interlocked on the table. “I would try my best to be there for them if I could. I would try to understand what it was that was hurting them so.”

“I see.”

Jeongin couldn’t hold the other boy’s gaze.

There was something too earnest. Too genuine. Too open.

He stared into his cereal again.

“And if you knew they’d never tell you?”

Jeongin could hear the hesitation on the cusp of Felix’s next breath, before the measured, considerate words followed.

“I think… I would try and understand the reasons behind that too. They might need time. They might need… some kind of trust. If it’s very personal, it might be really hard to open up.”

Yes, Jeongin knew.

Except they all had that trust, _didn’t_ they?

They were family. Or so they said.

Just how true were sentiments like that behind closed doors?

They had the right to privacy. They had the right to be alone. They didn’t need to be so involved, to have learned every facet of the other’s identities, their families, their lives, their homes. Of course there were things they held on their own. Of course there were things they wouldn’t ever share.

Family to an extent. Good friends to an extent.

What was the extent of their bond, where they could breach not only the topic of beginnings, but the factual reality of true ends?

He processed it.

He had never told himself that endings didn't exist. Who would choose to live in denial about that? _Parts of them, nanoscopic._ Those were what did. 

"Is it a friend of yours?" 

Felix's voice filtered into Jeongin's head, soft as a nurturing, carding hand. Was it worry?

“Has it been going on for some time?”

Jeongin answered. 

"Time." 

He heard himself say it out loud. 

As if it were another him, a part outside of him, responding his hyung’s words.

He grabbed the sides of his cereal bowl and held, enduring.

He cemented the truth aloud. 

“That’s something my friend doesn’t have.”

* * *

Scribbling.

That was the only way to describe the sounds he was hearing.

Pausing. Erasing. Scribbling.

At the desk in their bedroom, Hyunjin twisted halfway around.

On the floor, lying flat, hands on his stomach, was Minho. He rested with a pillow from his bunk tucked beneath his head, stereo headphones over his ears and rabbit eye mask on that had been a gift from a hometown friend.

Seungmin was sitting close by, leaning back on the frame of his and Hyunjin’s bed.

A fair-sized sketchbook was propped on his drawn knees as he glanced between his work on their hyung dozing on the floorboards.

After a moment longer of watching, Hyunjin asked. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing how it turns out,” came the faraway response.

It was apparent from the teeny wrinkle center brow that Seungmin was in a deep sort of concentration.

Hyunjin kept watching.

A minute or two passed.

“Can I see?”

“...Sure. If you come here.”

Hyunjin rose and stretched, mindful of Minho’s toes.

If the older boy was sleeping, he didn’t want to wake him up. Wasn’t that what people who had a cold were supposed to do?

Sleep. Not argue over the ending of a movie or spend time making questionable things in the kitchen with their two managers.

Still, as he made his way to Seungmin, he stooped and gently ticked the sole of Minho’s closest foot, then wiggled a couple toes.

His hyung didn’t stir.

The corner of Hyunjin’s lips lifted. “What’s he listening to?” he wondered.

“ASMR, I think,” answered his friend.

Casual, Hyunjin took a seat on his bunk, leg brushing Seungmin’s side. He peered at what had been sketched.

An outline, bare details, slight shading. Three-dimensional.

Hyunjin noticed the details of the face.

“You didn’t want to do the mask or the headphones?”

“Not really.”

Seungmin turned his attention to the socks Minho wore in his drawing, seeming not to like them as he flipped his pencil around.

Hyunjin noticed the feet had been erased and redrawn multiple times. They were one of the harder parts of the body to draw.

“He has a nice face,” Seungmin said a while later. “I didn’t want to cover it up.”

Hyunjin hummed. “I get that.”

Even so...

He examined the life-like drawing, something unsettled brimming in the lines of his stomach as he took it in.

A peaceful face. A body lying still.

“It’s kind of morbid though.”

“He’s sleeping. What do you want me to do?”

“Add something else? Like a sun. Or animal. Something.”

“You want me to put a random animal or planet in the middle of a bedroom,” Seungmin tonelessly replied.

Hyunjin allowed himself to fall backwards on his mattress, arms crossing beneath his head. “Do whatever you want. It looks fine," he said. "Just don’t draw any flowers or anything,” he mumbled as an afterthought.

There was a very close distance between his skull and the wall- and he rolled his eyes back to regard it.

Hitting his head against something so hard would surely hurt.

Hitting hard enough would leave a bruise or a bump.

Worse, a concussion.

Even worse than that, a fatal contusion.

Minho had gotten none of the above. He had said, quite calmly, as he rearranged his bed sheets earlier on, that he hadn't collapsed. He had 'decided to take a nap', and consequentially forgotten to wake back up. 

Sleeping wasn't a crime. They had all nodded off in stranger places. 

Hyunjin was hard-pressed to take the explanation at face-value and call it a day. 

Except. 

He couldn't. 

Nothing for hours. 

Nothing until dusk spun into night. 

What had those who found Minho been doing? Hovering around? Waiting for him to wake? 

Chan was better than the rest of them when it came to pretending.

More discreet when it came to problems. First thinking, then learning, then solving. It was the urgency of the situation that determined how forthright he was about it. If their leader was choosing not to pursue the reasons behind what had happened, there was most likely a purpose why. 

Or it could have been that maybe Chan thought whatever really happened wasn't a cause for concern. 

Maybe. Maybe not. 

Hyunjin could play the game of which all night. He would never know. 

What Jeongin had seen. What Changbin had found. What Jisung had felt.

Chan's real thoughts. 

Well. 

Whatever. 

There was no other choice. He would just have to wait it out and see. 

“Here.”

Seungmin's sketchpad hit his stomach. 

Hyunjin jolted to the present.

Seungmin stretched out his arms and rolled his neck, shaking out his palms. “I don’t know what to add. If you have an idea, go ahead,” he said, indicating towards the book.

Hyunjin started to sit, eyebrow lifting. “You’re giving up?”

“I’m sharing,” his roommate corrected. “When you don’t know what to do, isn’t sharing the best option?”

Hyunjin flipped through the corner of the sketchbook swiftly with his thumb to find the page where Seungmin had left off. He saw glimpses of old and new. “Depends,” he said. “It doesn’t work if the person you share with has no clue what they’re doing either.”

“That's a risk I'll take.”

Seungmin climbed the rungs of the ladder, bunk rattling.

There was a moment of shaking as Seungmin settled on his sheets.

“Let’s hope the person I trusted has some sort of clue.” 

"And if I don't?"

"Just don't make it worse."

* * *

The beryl sky was endless.

The clouds parted and drifted, languid above their heads.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Minho didn’t answer.

He watched a flock of birds soar before the sun. On the wooden bench, its light felt warm.

“Minho."

"What is it, hyung?"

Is this what you wanted?” Haejun asked again.

At the age of fifteen, Minho sat, and in one hand grasped the letter he had written.

The envelope was simple. Square. White. The name on front neatly penned.

“No.”

He said it at long last.

“This is my fault.”

Haejun continued to sit beside him. A space was left in between. His arms were stretched, chin tilted towards the skies. 

He watched the direction the birds soared. 

Minho leaned forward. His shoulders hunched.

Haejun was a constant. Haejun was a certainty. A hyung who stood by then, a hyung who stood by now. It didn't matter how different they were or how different they felt.

This would not change. 

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” Minho said.

“Do you regret it?” Haejun said. 

Minho whispered, low. “I don’t know.”

For a very long time they sat in silence.

The next time Minho spoke, his voice was near impossible to hear.

“It isn’t enough. How do I make it enough?”

Haejun kept quiet.

It was only once Minho bent further, bowing his head onto his letter, onto his knees, pressed his eyes shut and silenced his thoughts, that his hyung replied.

“You can't. Sometimes, you can't.”

There was another moment of soundlessness that followed. But this time, Minho knew the reasons for it.

Haejun’s words rolled on his tongue, out his mouth, heavy in the weight of self-experience, expressing the truth in reluctant finality.

“It doesn’t matter what you do. It doesn’t matter how hard you try. There's too much in the world out of our control. We can't possibly keep up. We're human. When we do things, we tell ourselves if it's right or wrong. But there's no way to know every time. You lose the things you want."

He and Minho were un-moving at the words.

"Is it my fault or is it yours? You'll ask that a lot." Haejun voice lowered. "Minho, sometimes what you want won't work out. The things you work so hard for won't turn out like you think. There are things that no one can change. You have to accept that."

"I thought I did." 

His letter was a infinite weight in his hand. 

"I was wrong."

Behind them, on the hill, came running and laughter, parents chiding after their kids.

Happiness.

Carelessness.

Fleeting bursts of joy.

That was what it meant to not know of terrible breaking things.

Minho sat up.

He leaned back on the bench and slumped down. His eyes went towards the sun.

“I’ll go to Seoul.”

Haejun’s gaze was scorching, scorching red.

“And what will you do there?”

“...I’ll get a job. I’ll work.”

“And then? What then?"

"I'll figure it out. I can go to school."

"For _what?"_

"As an option."

Haejun snatched the letter from Minho's hand, hints of fury bleeding through voice. "You'll toss away your future for this?"

Minho turned his head- and met his oldest friend’s contempt with affection. "There's nothing I'm throwing away. I'm going to get it back."

Haejun mouth was a hard line. His gaze was harder. He gripped Minho's wrist. 

“What if you can’t?”

Minho didn't smile. His eyes shone bright.

Determined, to Haejun he said-

“I will.” 

* * *

That was what it meant to make a promise.

This was what it meant to keep it.

Minho stood in the kitchen by the counter, dabbing a tea bag mindfully in the mug he’d grabbed from overhead. He cracked a yawn.

The dorm was quiet. His teammates were peacefully involved in their personal affairs. Both showers were taken. There were few schedules, few projects, few things to do in the coming weeks ahead. More often than not, he’d doubtlessly be left to his own devices. He didn’t dislike it.

He didn’t dislike it at all.

Given his situation, given the situations, this would do him good. Putting things to rest.

No more hesitations.

No more doubts.

Minho let his tea bag sink into his mug as he released it.

He sighed, leaning on the counter with a hand.

Doubts- there would always be doubts.

Wouldn’t there?

He wasn’t as certain as he feigned to be.

Not every aspect of him was so straightforward.

There were things he had told himself he had needed to do.

Yet as time had passed, as time had _gone_ , as people, as life, as ups and downs, as being an adult had begun- he wondered.

Was it really so necessary after all?

_This is what you worked for. This is why you’re here. Don’t forget._

He stared into tea.

_Don’t forget the reasons why._

“Hyung.”

He looked up.

Jeongin lingered by the table in pajamas and a windbreaker, hair flattened, glasses on. Melancholy on his face.

Minho stepped from the counter, attentive. “What is it?”

Jeongin’s smile was small. His arms seemed stiff from where his hands had been set in his jacket pockets. “Do you wanna go for a walk?”

“This late?” Minho glanced at the stove as if it would tell him the hour before remembering theirs didn’t have a clock.

Regardless it was night. Dark and cold and with few lights beyond their dorms on the stretch of road they lived on.

“Please,” stated Jeongin.

Minho debated just a moment longer. He nodded. He started to approach. “I’ll put on pants. You should do the same.”

The younger boy wordlessly agreed.

They went to their separate rooms in the dim glow of the dorm.

Minho reemerged first and headed to the bathroom. He knocked and then stepped in.

Chan was in the shower.

Minho ignored the older boy as a bottle of shampoo was fumbled and dropped. He went to the sink to remove his contacts and retrieve his glasses from behind the mirror’s compartment.

“Next time do you wanna wait until I say ‘come in’ to enter?” Chan asked, raising his voice to be heard over the shower head.

“Sorry,” Minho answered. "I'll be quick." He wore his glasses and closed the mirror door.

Despite his words, Chan looked relatively unbothered. A mound of soap had accumulated on his hair. 

“You don’t sound so bad anymore,” Minho noted. 

“Heat and steam. A cold’s best remedy.”

“Is that what a doctor would say?”

“I am the doctor so yes.”

Chan turned off the water. He slid open the glass door. Minho searched around the bathroom for a bit then pulled what he assumed was his friend’s towel off the hook.

“You’re coming back or going out?” Chan questioned. He accepted the towel Minho offered. It wasn't actually his but he doubted Changbin would complain.

“Out.” Minho zipped his puffy coat. “Someone wants a walk.”

“This late?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I guess have fun?” His leader covered himself. He studied Minho briefly, searching his face. “You remember?” he asked.

“Don’t talk to strangers. Leave things on the ground alone,” Minho monotonously intoned. “Stop bringing leaves and rocks into the dorms.”

“Er- yes to all of those,” his friend replied.

A crinkling smile threatened to overshadow the seriousness of his eyes.

Chan’s palms rose and came to rest on Minho’s shoulders. He rocked him slightly.

“Most importantly, come home safely.”

Always caring.

"Mm, yes. We will."

Minho understood. 

In more ways than one, that rule was significant above any other they had. 

He wasn't likely to forget it. 

Chan let go.

Minho left.

On his way down the hall, Jisung poked his head out his bedroom and snagged his arm.

His appearance was one of a man who had tumbled straight from bed, hair tousled, eyes closed. “You’re going with him?” he murmured.

Minho couldn’t help but fondly comb down the other boy’s flyaway hairs. “That’s right,” he mouthed.

Jisung seemed to hear him anyway.

He grunted. Bumped his forehead against Minho’s cheek. Disappeared into the bedroom he shared with their youngest once more, like a cave-dwelling creature of the dark.

Minho looked at the closed door, smiling.

In the bathroom, there was a minor ruckus. Minho glanced over his shoulder, listening to what was probably Chan dropping his toothbrush to the floor and then knocking two bottles of mouthwash over. At least that's what he assumed- going by the quiet complaint of " _you've gotta be kidding"._

Minho suppressed a laugh.

He wasn’t nearly as successful as hiding his snort.

Grinning, he fled the hall before Chan could catch wind of him having knowledge of his predicament.

In the living room, Jeongin fiddled with his phone. He forced a smile on as his hyung cheerfully fist-bumped him in the shoulder, letting the older boy take lead as they left. 

The door clicked shut softly in their wake. 

Minho was heading for the elevators when Jeongin caught his elbow.

"Is it okay if we take the stairs?" Jeongin asked. 

Minho blinked but didn’t argue. He took his place at the taller boy's heels as they turned and went towards the opposite end of the hall instead. If it was like this, then their youngest must've really wanted the time and company to clear his head. 

He didn't mind.

Better to learn what was bothering his teammate rather than let it fester and grow. 

Jeongin opened the door to the stairwell. A bitter, colder rush of air swooped into the hall, over their skin.

Minho shivered. Jeongin was unfazed.

He stepped aside to let Minho enter first. Then he went after.

The door clanged loudly shut.

On the sixth floor, there were five more flights of steps to go.

Minho started down the first set, putting his hands into his coat. Where could they go? A trip around the block- or maybe two. It wouldn't be a bad thing to venture the main streets either. There would be more light and sounds. That could help too. 

Truthfully, there was a part of him that felt tired and sluggish and slow- the part of him that continued to carry yesterday's burden of the hours spent in the drowsing rain. 

He would, without a doubt, accompany Jeongin until he felt better. 

But when they returned, he resolved to sleep well.

Lately he’d been into ASMR. It relaxed him, set his mind at ease. Slipping into dreams wasn’t so hard with that. 

_Hmm._ He thought for a bit. 

He wondered how hard it would be to get a direct session of ASMR from Felix. Would it be the same in person?

His foot hit the start of the third floor stairs. 

"Minho-hyung."

He stopped.

He turned.

Jeongin was on the last step of the fourth floor. 

Under the lights, the walls were blindingly white around them.

Jeongin's mouth and eyes were creased, heavy, distraught. He moved from the step for the platform between stairs, leveling himself with his hyung. 

Minho faced him, fully alarmed. “What's wrong?"

The question echoed in the stairwell.

All around them.

All above them.

Falling below.

The silence hung on their shoulders, an executioner's wavering ax.

Minho felt the air creep along his neck. Crawling colder than before.

Jeongin swallowed. “Hyung.”

His tone wavered.

Minho moved.

He took two steps forward but Jeongin held out a hand in a gesture to stop.

“No- it’s-” He worked his throat. “Stay there please.”

He was certain his hyung was coming to comfort him, to hold him, to even hug and sit him down in some way. But that wasn’t what he wanted. That wasn't what he needed.

For all intents and purposes, this wasn’t about _him_.

Minho looked vexed.

 _I won’t make you wait,_ Jeongin determined. “I wanted to talk,” he said.

Minho regarded Jeongin carefully. His words were cautious on his tongue. “You don’t want to walk?” 

Jeongin shook his head. “It was an excuse.”

Understanding crossed Minho's face. Jeongin knew, however, that Minho didn't understand.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Minho asked.

Desperation clawed up Jeongin's throat, burning, rough, relentless. _Why are you concerned about_ me?

It was frustratingly just like Minho to be thinking of someone else when he should have been looking out for himself.

Jeongin steeled himself. “I’m okay," he said.

"Okay," Minho affirmed. 

"I'm okay, but I don't think you're okay."

Absolute quiet swept the stairs.

Jeongin waited, shifting on his feet, nervously picking beneath his nails with the thumb of his same hand. 

Minho tilted his head. 

He crinkled his eyes.

He laughed.

Jeongin stared. 

Minho kept laughing, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Jeongin wished he would stop. Heat curdled in his veins and he didn't expect it- the sudden, searing flash of anger. 

"Hyung."

Minho grinned. It was visible and bright over the mask he hadn't yet bothered to pull over his chin. "Yes?"

Like being punched in the chest. Jeongin kept staring at his teammate, at his friend, feeling as though he'd lost the air in his lungs keeping him steady.

Breathless- he asked.

“Why are you laughing?”

Minho's expression did something strange. Appreciative. Exasperated. Kind. Closing, sealing, off. His grin became a smile.

His feelings could no longer be read. 

"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't know. That it was bothering you. I thought you were kind of off today, but I figured you wanted to be left alone." He pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose despite the fact they weren't slipping. "You heard Chan-hyung, right? It's a tiny cold. It'll go. I barely feel it." 

Jeongin deflated. 

“I wasn’t talking about today.”

Minho’s smile remained. He touched his glasses again. “Then you mean a few days ago?” His fingers dropped and fiddled with the bottom of his mask. He appeared to be thinking. “The day before yesterday. That’s fine too. Nothing happened so I’m alright.”

Jeongin’s mouth twisted. Not a scowl. Not a frown. 

They twisted with incredulous disbelief. 

“You’re wrong.”

The anger had returned. Firm and certain. He fired off the question. 

"Why are you lying?"

For a moment Jeongin wondered.

_What if I'm wrong._

Minho was looking at him like he couldn't believe what he'd heard. He was no longer smiling. Irritation furrowed his brow. "What." 

Jeongin didn't move. 

He couldn't. His legs had locked. There was no taking it back now. He couldn't second-guess himself. If this was right.

If this was the only way to know if the words Minho had said back then were true.

Directly asking.

Directly demanding the truth. 

Had he overstepped their boundaries? 

No.

This _had to be_ the way.

“Hyung." Jeongin refused to let his voice waver. "I saw you.”

Minho's expression further knitted in irritated bewilderment. "Saw what?"

"The day before yesterday."

Minho stared him down. 

"In the practice room. I was there. I saw."

Minho said nothing. 

He said nothing at all.

"Hyung?" 

Jeongin's voice cracked. His throat tightened. His palms grew sweaty. Cold. There was a hammering in his ears and chest. 

It wasn't the silence that made him scared.

It was the look Minho wore. 

Sudden terror. 

Minho set one foot behind him. 

"That. Wasn't anything important."

His words were near inaudible.

His gaze met Jeongin's own and Jeongin held it- _held it_ \- terrified of the consequences if he didn't.

Jeongin spoke the truth.

“I heard you."

_“Is this what you wanted?”_

Minho's mouth opened and shut.

He spoke.

"No."

There was no desperation in the word.

There was nothing but the echo of an answer on his tongue. Thoughts rose and tumbled swift. He sorted through them quickly. He breathed. 

_Slow down._

All he had to do was explain. 

If he did it well enough, Jeongin could probably understand. Jeongin could probably...

_Try to make him understand._

Even as he thought it, his foot took another small step in retreat.

Teetering. He was teetering on an edge. 

Hurry. _Make him understand._

He tried again.

"No."

His smile wouldn't stay.

"That's not-"

Jeongin surged forward. 

Startled, Minho stepped back.

On the cusp of the top step, there was nothing waiting.

Jeongin lunged.

Their hands missed.

_“And then? What then?”_

Minho fell. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I knew how to make the emoji of the smiley face wiping away a tear of laughter. I also posted something else today 'A Game is a Game' so give it a look if that tickles your fancy! If not that's perfectly okay <3


	5. |Violet

“What did you do?” 

Jeongin stood still. 

_“What did you do?”_

At the top of the stairs, Jeongin looked at his hands. 

* * *

Shopping.

Of all the things, Felix hadn’t expected it.

He’d brought his wallet and forgotten both of his cards from the last time he’d ventured out and returned home.

He seriously needed to stop setting his belongings on his dresser. He needed to stop doing a lot of things. Like staring at Minho. Minho and the pristine white bandage wrapped around his forehead- like the version of Sasuke that had never quite stopped getting the crap beat out of him, and constantly woke in dark caves to worse and worse news.

They hadn’t watched the series in the while.

They hadn’t watched anything in a while.

The last animation they caught up on had been _My Hero_ , lounging in Felix’s bunk while Chan lurked near the headboard and Changbin, from the other side of the room, pretended not to be interested.

But Minho hadn’t been around.

He had been in the hospital, unconscious, on a bed.

Granted, it was for a short-period, and _miraculously_ , there’d been no critical damage. However the gash from the fall had been deep and the stitches far from pretty.

If it bothered Minho, having such coarse and hideous black threads sewed into his skin, he didn’t show it.

In fact, he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

About anything.

Most importantly, his near-fatal journey down a flight of stairs.

Felix pretended to peruse through a rack of on-sale brand t-shirts.

Minho was nearby, spinning a circle of hanging blue jeans in mild, intrigued interest.

They’d been out for three hours, since eleven a.m. and Felix had only the chance to stick the corner of burnt waffle in his mouth before he’d been dragged from the dorm.

His stomach warbled for food.

He was hungry and bamboozled and felt like he was suffering from jet-lag despite not having set foot on a plane in months. He kinda felt like he'd go mad.

Six shops and Minho hadn’t bought anything.

Sometimes that hyung walked fast, sometimes that hyung walked slow, but that hyung kept on walking and he _didn’t stop_. Felix had no clue what his older friend was looking for. If he was even looking for something at all.

His eyes lingered on Minho.

Most likely, it was a distraction.

Felix had barely managed to convince the older boy that- no- they didn’t need to try out the choreography to 2PM’s ‘Go Crazy’. No, he was _not_ going to flip Minho heels onto head and pretend they were a mecha robot. N _o_ \- for the hundredth time- they were _not_ going to act like two pieces of seaweed dancing in a club no matter how funky or fun the song was- ' _so quit asking before I drop you'._

He had suffered only moderately on the trip to their next clothing store for the refusal. Minho had taken great joy in clinging to his arms and stepping on his heels. 

Felix was disgruntled, sure- but agitated as he got- he let it slide. Because he knew.

The dorm had been off-balance.

Everyone had wanted to ask questions. 

No one had.

Factitious.

They didn't usually have such uneasy doubts when it came to issues among them. 

Minho who sorted them out. Minho, whose own anger at them when they fought twisted restlessness in their gut, made them halt. If Minho was now the root of disagreement in their brotherhood, then it was _definitely_ not getting resolved unless someone else decided to put their foot down.

Like Chan.

Or Changbin.

Or Jisung.

Any one of their 3racha producing leaders. For _some_ reason, not one of them had bothered to pester Minho and figure out what happened. Not that any of them had much time to try and pry. Still- they could've attempted something, _right?_

Or maybe they had, and Felix just hadn't been made privy. 

He didn’t count himself among one of the ones who could needle answers from Minho.

Felix was placating. Empathetic. Straight to the point but with consideration, not the finger of accusation.

Minho was resilient. Stubborn. A person who somehow managed to turn the conversation on its head and leave it for others to upright. 

So how to get the upper hand...?

“Yongbokkie, are you done?”

Felix screamed.

Customers stared.

Minho raised his eyebrows, amused.

Felix coughed and straightened the nonexistent wrinkles on his cardigan. How long had Minho been there for watching him so freakishly? “I’m done,” he said.

Noticing the lack of clothes Minho carried, Felix presumed the other was done too.

Fine.

If no one else in the dorm, if even their _managers_ , wouldn’t bring up what had happened- then _he_ would.

Felix could be blunt. 

However certain times called for certain measures.

“Hyung.” He wiggled his mobile from the pocket of his jeans. “I’m starving. How about we eat?”

Minho blinked.

A sure-fire sign of trust. Or lack of caring.

Either of the two- whatever- it worked.

“Great,” said Felix, despite having not received any sort of response at all. “There’s this place I’ve wanted to check out…”

* * *

The bunny cafe was more of a distraction than he’d anticipated.

They’d waited in line alongside the stretch of a glass counter, displaying a vast assortment of scrumptious pastries and baked goods. They had lasted an approximate three minutes before they had left the line and crossed the room to where the low, plastic gates and faux flora awaited, and where a number of well-groomed, multi-colored bunnies hopped about.

Pastel ramps in indoor cages. Mini hovels with holes. 

There was a second wooden counter beside the pen area, equipped with baby blue aprons and three jars of labeled treats.

Organic? _Organic?_

What exactly were organic bunny treats?

Felix had greeted the worker behind the counter, asking. 

Minho had long since gone for the aprons, tying one around himself in a flash. He stooped to tickle the nose of an orange and white bunny that had been pressed against the wall of the holed gate closest to his leg.

Literally, quite literally, it had been a descent into a rabbit-hole hell.

They had paid for two sessions and added a third. Then a fourth. 

Felix had gotten so absorbed in the whole affair, he hadn't even realized Minho had stepped out. Not until his friend had returned, tapping on his shoulder and raising a colossal tray of assorted pastries he had bought for them to share.

So they had settled at a table against the wall, tasting the unidentifiable treats firstly, the ones with fruit secondly. The glazed ones went third. The ones with chocolate and caramel last. 

Minho was dividing their last chocolate chip muffin with a plastic fork and knife when Felix returned to his good senses.

_My God._

He wiped his mouth a napkin- mortified.

“How many calories was that?”

Minho paused, knife wedged in the midst of the muffin. “Does it matter?”

“Hyung. I have abs.”

“They won’t disappear because you had a couple of sweets.”

Felix looked very pointedly at the tray the muffin sat on, surrounded by the remains of what had been fifteen other kinds of desserts. "A couple." Flatter than a board, his tone. "Yeah."

Minho returned to the muffin and split it. He nudged the smaller half towards Felix with his fork. “You don’t need to eat it,” he said. “We can bring it back for Changbin. I’ll wrap it in a napkin.”

“You think he’d be grateful for something so suspicious looking?”

“He better be. For the measly money I spent on him? Ha!”

“I think not.”

Felix went and pressed the two halves of the muffin back together. He got to his feet.

“I’ll have this wrapped in plastic and put in a bag. I’m sure he’ll appreciate a _whole_ muffin.”

Minho pushed his lips in a way that was neither a disagreement or an agreement.

It was pushing one-thirty in the afternoon when Felix, waiting at the counter to speak with one of the working employees, finally remembered why he had brought his hyung to a place like this to begin with. 

_Well done,_ he congratulated himself. _You completely forgot, you bozo._

Meanwhile, at the table, Minho took some more pictures of the bunnies in the pen. The quality of his zoomed-in phone's camera was extraordinarily high. Smothering the coos threatening to spill from his mouth, he took a video.

He could upload it to their shared Instagram.

He’d gotten a picture with his teammate and three bunnies earlier on. That could be posted too.

It’d be good to show fans he was doing well.

Normally he’d engage on Bubble. For now, he didn’t feel up to seeing what messages would come. Not that he could avoid it for too long. Fans had subscribed and paid. It wasn't exactly fair to disappear.

He rubbed his forehead at the thought of the responsibility- forgot he had stitches- and yelped.

“Please be careful,” Felix said, returning.

He set a square, cardboard box on the table and collected their tray of devoured pastries. Minho assumed the box contained what was now Changbin’s muffin.

“Mind if I get us drinks?” the younger asked.

Minho handed over his card. Today, he wasn’t feeling particular about what he wanted.

He hadn’t felt particular about a great deal of things in the last few days. Most of it he’d spent either sleeping or doing the mundane.

Once his bandmates stopped tip-toeing around him, they could be business as usual. That's what he wished for at least.

He could appreciate Felix’s efforts.

They certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Felix could be subtle when he wanted. It was a shame the entire morning his teammate had been anything but. Minho had grown used to being watched. It wasn't exactly hard to tell that it was all the other boy had been doing since they'd left the dorm.

There hadn't been a point in bringing it up. 

Minho hoped no one would bring up anything anymore, but that was the furthest thing from likely on this living planet. 

In the left pocket of his unzipped windbreaker, his phone buzzed. He didn’t bother to check it.

Jisung- without a doubt. 

If it wasn’t another call, it was another message. For once, Minho wanted the other boy to stop. They rarely contacted each other.

Unless they had set plans and were supposed to meet up, there wasn’t a reason to.

Jisung had phoned once after Minho’s release from the hospital and it’d been brief, and Minho had assumed that was that. Their matters were done. 

At any rate, their talk was way more simple and to the point than the company meeting he'd found himself sitting through the next morning. His managers had been present and they'd said little, absorbing the criticism and scolding and instructions moving forward.

Then Minho had been given a grace period and presented an option to return home for the interim. 

Tempting as it was, Minho had kindly refused.

He needed to be here. Although he had kept that to himself.

Of course there would be check-ins. He would have to revisit the doctor to have the stitches removed in a couple days. Reports would be sent to management and he would be evaluated shortly to confirm whether he was fit to rejoin future schedules when they started anew.

Minho had injured himself plenty to know the routine by now.

And Jisung should know by now that when injuries happened, Minho didn’t care to talk about them.

What made this time different? Because another member was involved? 

Because Jeongin- apparently- hadn’t said a word of what occurred?

Minho wasn’t sure how to deal with that aspect yet. He hadn’t given it much thought.

He had made grievous assumptions that Jeongin must’ve told their members everything in his absence. But Jeongin hadn’t.

Why was that?

Minho mulled over the possibilities. None of the branches could be climbed. 

“Hyung? Are you okay?”

Minho stopped staring at the ceiling, not too certain when he’d begun looking.

Felix pulled out the chair across from him and sat. He set what seemed to be a tall-sized, take-out cup of coffee and steaming, rabbit-shaped mug on the table they were at. “You pick,” he offered.

Minho reached for the ‘coffee’. Found it was cold to the touch. Removed the lid to peek inside.

Orange juice.

He thanked Felix absently.

Felix passed back the thanks and Minho's card. He asked again.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes?” Minho said it, confused, as if a part of him was still not present.

Felix examined him closely.

Was Minho looking paler or was it the skylight over their heads? Couldn’t be- it wasn’t _that_ sunny out.

Nausea?

Was it nausea?

Felix analyzed his friend some more.

His findings?

Inconclusive.

Useless.

The hard way then.

“Minho-hyung,” he said loud in a half-shout.

As expected, the older boy grimaced and met his gaze.

“Yes?”

He was all present.

Felix didn’t technically shrink. He occupied himself with the piping hot mug of tea in front him, doing a spectacular job of burning his palms as he inevitably dove into the topic at hand. _C'est la vie._ “You only recently got out of the hospital. If you start feeling sick or dizzy- or _anything-_ you have to let me know.”

Minho sipped his juice. “I feel fine.”

Felix sipped his tea. “I don’t suppose you’d lie to me.”

He scalded his tongue.

Minho watched, undisturbed, as Felix spluttered and swore. “I would lie to you. I lie to you all the time,” he said.

“That’s- good to know,” Felix choked out.

Minho offered him a napkin.

Felix wiped his mouth. “Ignoring what you actually think,” he continued on, “and the fact that you’re a liar, I’m familiar enough with who you are.”

“Oh? Who do you think that is?” Minho challenged affably.

Felix took another sip of his tea. Far more cautiously. Slow. “Someone who can’t hide their stress. Someone who can’t hide when they’re sleepy or annoyed. You’ve been stressed for a couple weeks. I think most of us noticed. We should have brought it up sooner.”

There was a miniature glass jar on their table against the wall full of yellow sugar packets next to a taller jar of stirrers and the napkin dispenser.

Minho engrossed himself with the packets. He grabbed a handful. “Everyone gets stressed. There isn’t a need to bring it up.”

“I don’t think it’s like the other times you’ve been stressed. You normally sleep really well.”

“How do you know how I sleep?”

“Seungmin mentions it. He talks about you a lot.”

“He’s obsessed.”

“He’s concerned,” stated Felix. “Like me.” He cleared his throat. “It seems like you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

And wasn’t that incredulous.

Minho huffed as he laughed. He spread the sugar packets he had grabbed in front him and played a roulette in his head to choose. “What are you saying? I take care of myself well.”

“That’s why you fell down the stairs? And fell in the practice room?”

“I was napping.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that.”

“I expect you to believe your hyung.”

“I don’t.”

Minho flicked a sugar packet in his direction. “That sounds like a problem with you.”

He could see the internal struggle Felix waged with himself to not throw it back.

“My problem is with you,” his dongsaeng finally said, setting the packet aside.

Minho stretched across the table and snatched it. “Go on. Tell me then.” He tore the packet open and tipped it inside his drink. “I’ve been sleepy, you said? Annoyed? Haven’t I been stuck inside the same building for weeks like the rest of you? Isn’t it normal to get antsy?”

“You’ve gone out frequently." Felix watched him." You leave when you’re on the phone.”

Minho arched a brow. Ceased immediately when it caused a flash of pain along his stitches. “I have friends, like you. Is that wrong?”

Felix kept watching him.

“What?” said Minho.

Felix held his mug- precariously. “Why are you adding sugar to your orange juice?”

Minho turned up his nose. He had forgotten. “I guess everything I do is a crime.”

Uncomfortable with the conversation’s direction, he had absolutely not remembered what he'd chosen to drink.

Minho set the remaining sugar down and pushed his cup away.

Felix followed its movement. His expression was uncertain. Like Minho had just proven the point he’d been making about odd and stressed behaviors. 

Minho shifted in his chair.

This talk was treading into territories he didn’t care to approach. Felix was turning out to be more dangerous than Jeongin. _Because_ he didn’t know.

The irony.

Would it be too obvious Minho was trying to escape if he made a beeline for the door?

No.

Do it in a more roundabout way.

Play with another bunny.

Get treats from the counter and play with two.

“Hyung, if you don’t want to talk about it, then we don’t have to.”

Minho dragged his eyes back to the table.

Felix must've seen everything his expression showed- because he chuckled- helplessly so. “I’d rather not push you to do things you don’t want," he confessed. "But... if I could just say one last thing on it?”

Minho, rightfully wary, gestured.

Felix lowered his mug. If it was still hot, he didn’t show that it still hurt. He smiled tightly. His mug hit the table with a thud.

“Don’t ever. Do that. Again.”

Minho's wariness grew. “...Do what?”

“Hit any kind of floor? It’s the second time in a week and a half so it’d be nice if you could be more careful.”

Minho wasn’t as offended as he should be getting scolded by his dongsaeng.

The abrasive manner the other boy sometimes spoke wasn’t fully his fault. It was the style of how he’d learned the language. Besides, there was an element of appreciation for the unique way Felix spoke.

He also, truly, wholeheartedly loved the other.

There was an uncommon amount of adoration he would always feel towards his younger friend.

_Even if-_

Minho coughed and sat back. He toed Felix’s knee with his sneaker and got swatted by a hand for it. “Alright. I got it. I won’t do it again,” he said, petulant. “So you know- it’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“I know.” Felix’s tone stayed chastising. Firm. “And I know Jeongin didn’t either.”

Minho’s eyes dropped to the table edge. He ran both thumbs on it idly.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I can’t pretend to know what happened that night. None of us can. We guess but that's it.”

Felix’s voice had changed.

Familiar.

It made Minho raise his head.

_Familiar._

The way it had changed was like Jisung's had been, in the practice room, all those days ago when he had been waking on the floor.

Dangerous territories again.

Minho wouldn’t be caught off guard.

“Say what it is you want to say then. I told you we weren’t fighting.”

“I don’t think you were," Felix assured him. "It was an accident. The conversation you were having did look serious, but again, I can't truly begin to know.”

“It wasn’t serious.”

Minho was aware of how it had come across on the footage.

The surveillance camera posted in the corner of the stairwell had done no one justice.

The back-and-forth between himself and their youngest teammate was obvious. A disagreement. A confrontation.

Whatever it had been, it had led to this end.

These were the consequences.

Minho's actions, his behaviors, the subtle and the transparent, cast beneath a spotlight.

He and Felix gazed at one another for a time.

Careful.

Felix was being so careful.

He didn’t say Minho was lying.

He didn’t say he believed him.

“I just… it’s been feeling a little strange in the dorm since you returned. Not because you returned or anything. More with you and Jeongin. I- you weren’t here for five days. You were in the hospital for two and then you were gone for the rest.”

“Yes, I was with a friend.”

He had returned yesterday, late evening, to the poorly-hidden glances of his bandmates, and slunk off to his bed.

“I understand that. It’s the days you were gone,” Felix said. He grasped his mug but didn’t lift it. “It was really, really terrible. I know no one else has said anything about it because they don’t know how, but it was really not good. Really.”

“So you’ve said a bunch of times just now,” Minho noted.

Felix sighed- exasperated, tired, resigned. “Jeongin felt so guilty," he frowned. “He didn’t sleep. I kept sitting with him at the kitchen table but it was hard. He kept saying he tried- and that he shouldn’t have. He was terrified of seeing you again, I think.”

“But I’m not upset. I don’t blame him for anything. Except maybe getting too close.”

“Yeah but you haven’t told him that, right?”

At the lack of comprehension on Minho’s face, Felix sighed once more.

Sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder how much the befuddlement the older boy possessed in these moments was on purpose or genuinely sincere.

Minho had no trouble talking. He had no trouble expressing how he felt. Away from the camera, he talked a _lot._

Seeking their youngest teammate out shouldn’t have been an issue. More-so considering the relationship the two of them had.

Find the problem, then the solution, hold the resolution, move on.

Even if their methods differed, that was sentiment they shared.

So what was they problem the pair of them were facing?

Felix had sorted through what few details he had, over and over, to numerous logical fails. Jeongin, who had confided in him all those days ago, concerned about a friend- had he gone to Minho for advice as well?

Or maybe he had shared the issue more intimately with their hyung and that's where the disagreement was born.

Felix had known, _known_ , his words hadn’t been enough for their youngest. He had felt it after Jeongin had left him at the table, cereal forgotten, steps heavy.

He had hoped something he’d said was useful.

But.

_I guess it wasn’t._

Now look where it had led.

If Felix's words could do any good _this time…_

“I think it could be better all around if you were able to talk to him. At some point. He- you know he tried to this morning- but you grabbed me instead.”

“I wanted to go out.”

“You wanted to run away.”

Across from him, Minho tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about me?”

It was the second time he asked.

This time- he was humorless.

Felix scrutinized his hyung. “I know enough.”

“Do you?”

“I’m not trying to fight. It’s not easy for anyone. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Hn.”

Disinterest.

Minho’s attention was way-laid to a place beyond Felix’s shoulder.

Al _right._

“It’s not my place to tell you to do anything. Just- if you get the _chance-_ ” emphasized Felix, his hand waving as he made his point. "Speak to him? Reassure him it’s not his fault if that’s honestly the way you feel.”

“You’ve been boxing.”

“I- what?”

Felix drew back.

Minho’s eyes were on the hand Felix had been moving.

The hand where nails were bitten. Where the middle knuckle was torn and the rest bruised and raw.

“Yeah. So I was.”

Felix should’ve made a better attempt to hide the frustration in his voice.

Minho had noticed.

Felix cleared his throat. He adjusted himself in his chair, opting to look anywhere but at his teammate’s offended reaction.

“It was a good way to get things out. I had time to spare.”

“Lucky you.”

Felix’s eyes flew towards his hyung.

Minho returned his look with a glare.

It was far from any sort of kindness Minho had shown in the moments before.

Felix didn’t understand. What... was with _that?_ Had he touched a nerve? Had he spoken too much?

Minho got to his feet.

Felix opened his mouth, baffled, but Minho withdrew his ringing phone from his pocket and showed it off.

“I’m taking this,” he said.

He left before any sort of answer could come.

Felix twisted around in his chair to watch as Minho exited the cafe, glowering as the older boy stood on the other side of the door to pick up the call. 

So much for that.

He twisted back around, staring into his tea crossly.

* * *

Outside in the chilly weather, Minho dragged his zipper closed and put his phone to his ear.

He’d wanted to escape but found himself annoyingly trapped again.

_Luck._

His lip curled on a snarl. He hadn’t been having much of it recently had he?

Minho shuffled a bit further down from the door as a couple went to enter, scowling as he talked. “What?”

_“That’s how you choose to answer?”_

“Were you expecting something else?”

_“From you? No.”_

“I’m with a friend, make it quick or pass off.”

_“You’re in a shitty mood. Watch yourself. Don’t take it out on me. You act like I can't come find you.”_

Minho scoffed. He scoffed louder.

He took a deep breath breath.

He closed his eyes.

"Hyung."

He scuffed at the sidewalk with the heel of his shoe.

“I’ve gotten faster at running. I doubt you’d be able to catch me.”

_“You underestimate me. You’re pretty horrible when it comes to lying low.”_

“Wanna bet?”

_“A staircase.”_

“You heard?” Minho muttered.

_“It was online. Five articles. There was a sixth but I don't have a subscription to the site."_

"You still don't?"

 _"Not the point._ ‘Stray _Kids’ Lee Minho On Break’. ‘Stray Kids’ Lee Know Expects Early Release From Hospital’. ‘Stray Kids’ Lee Know Involved In Minor Accident’. Did you want me to keep going?”_

“No. Your voice is annoying.”

_“You’re annoying.”_

“What do you want?”

_“Talk.”_

Minho withheld a sigh.

He glanced at his surroundings.

There was no one close enough to hear his conversation. Mostly anyone passing kept in their own worlds and gathered at the crosswalks on either corner of the street the cafe and numerous other window-shops were on.

“It was nothing. I changed my mind.”

_“You asked me to take you home.”_

Minho went quiet.

Haejun did too.

They listened to the sound of one another’s silence for a long, long time.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Minho said after a while. “I was tired. The medications from the hospital-”

_“Did you fall?”_

Yes.

There had been no step.

Nothing to catch him.

Fear had flooded every instinct in his brain and he had forgotten to try and stop the descent.

It hadn’t hurt.

Because when he had hit the bottom, he’d already been gone.

And yet- the memory filled him with an irritating amount of self-loathing. 

_“Did you fall- or was it something else?”_

“...Something else like what.”

 _“It’s been a year.”_ Haejun’s tone spared no room for games or diversions. _“I haven’t forgotten.”_

Minho studied the sidewalk. Studied the cracks and scuffs worn from months and years of being trodden underfoot. “It wasn’t that,” he answered. “I got surprised and lost my balance. I haven’t been feeling bad. I’m healthy.”

_“Well. Your body looks good enough.”_

“I work hard.”

_“Too hard.”_

Minho’s brow creased. “I can take care of myself.”

_“I freaking hope so, you nuisance. Mom was gonna force me to drive up with her. I barely managed to escape. Quit endangering my adulthood.”_

“What adulthood. You get into trouble on your own. No one helps you with that.”

_“You’re a punk and I detest you.”_

“Good. Let me hang up.”

_“Go on.”_

Minho snorted. He started to lower his phone.

Haejun’s voice caught him before he could.

_“Minho.”_

“What is it hyung?”

A response didn’t come right away.

When it did, there was nothing in it but sincerity.

_“...I can’t come running to you at the drop of a hat. This time, I can’t be waiting at your side. We're in different places. Even if that’s the reality, you know my phone is on. You're a bother. I can't stand you. I told you years ago to quit and put everything behind you. ...You just don't listen. I'll say it clearly. You ask me to come get you again, to bring you home again- and I will. But don't think for one moment I'll let you go back Seoul. I won't care what you say. Pretend all you like. I won't watch you destroy yourself. ... Got it?"_

Stupid.

Stupidly, Minho’s eyes burned.

He glowered at the glass building across the street. He hated how his voice trembled. “You’ll end my career? Quit joking around.”

_“You don’t need me to end it."_

Haejun hung up.

Minho continued to scowl at the glass building, furious and touched at once. He lowered his phone. What did Haejun know? 

More than he cared to admit. 

Struggling, Minho tore his eyes away and turned. He wiped his face. Felix was probably still waiting, sitting alone. 

Felix was right in front.

Minho's pulse leapt in his throat. He fluttered his eyelashes, trying to un-clump them, unable to stop. “When did you come out?” 

“I just did,” Felix replied. His eyes searched Minho’s intently. The take-out cup of orange juice Minho had claimed was in his hand. So was the boxed muffin for Changbin. There was a dent in the box as though Felix's thumb had been pressed into it for some time.

 _He’s lying,_ Minho realized.

He forced a snort past his rapidly frowning lips and pocketed his phone. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to eavesdrop?”

“I wasn’t.”

Minho flattened his gaze. "Well this was fun.” He took the orange juice off of Felix’s hand. “I’m going to go now and explore. You can make it home okay, right?”

“I can, but-”

“Then I’ll see you later.”

He walked past the other boy without a second look.

“Thanks for joining me today, I needed it.”

“Hyung, wait.”

“Goodbye.”

Minho walked a bit faster. He found the nearest trash can on the sidewalk and tossed the cup in.

Felix’s eyes never left him.

Not once.

Not until he had crossed the street and vanished into the crowds.

Minho cursed beneath his breath. 

* * *

The sounds of a near-finished track echoed off the walls of the studio.

“It sounds good,” Chan was saying, relaxing in his chair. He bobbed his head to the rhythm, thinking. “I mean, if you wanted to, you could forget about the fourth layer and leave it as it is.” He glanced over. Did a double-take.

“Er- Jisung?”

The younger boy toyed with his phone. He was cross-legged in the wider couch chair, distracted and most definitely not listening to a word Chan had said.

Chan hit the spacebar.

At the abrupt silence, Jisung raised his head. Confused, he looked at around.

Chan lifted a hand. “Yeah, hello. What’s up?”

Jisung cleared his throat twice. “Ah- it’s nothing,” he apologized. He brought his eyes to Chan’s monitor and the software program, attentive. “Did you say it's fine as is?”

“It’s fine as is,” Chan affirmed. He eyed his friend curiously. “...You want to talk?”

“About what?”

“Whatever’s on your mind. You’ve been looking at your phone since we got here. Expecting someone?”

“Not really.”

Chan drummed on the edge of his desk. “Is it Minho? I know he vanished from the group chat.”

“He didn't vanish. He's still in it.”

“Yeah- but he’s kinda not. He hasn’t read anything all week. Even when he got back.”

“He hit his head. Looking at screens could hurt.”

“He played me in racing this morning and won.”

Jisung straightened. Just a bit. “What, he actually did something with you?”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “Should he not have?”

Jisung slid his attention aside. He mumbled. He muttered. He settled more comfortably in his seat. “He told me no. Did you bribe him?”

“I didn’t bribe him,” Chan snorted. He considered Jisung, consideration weighing in his eyes. “It’s been a stressful week.”

“Only a little.”

“And you made a masterpiece.” Chan nudged his chin in the direction of his computer. “Nice work, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

Jisung didn’t know why he suddenly felt irritated. He’d gotten a solid review and confirmation that his work wasn’t unusual- or terrible- or unappealing.

That was a good thing.

As a group, they had a lot of good things, particularly lately.

They had worked for it, endlessly, over the years.

Through the difficulties, the changes, the disagreements, the interviews, awards, the public.

Fast.

Terrifyingly fast- near overwhelming.

Their popularity and reputation had been building, seemingly slow, but steady.

Now it was soaring, high over their heads. Now it was getting hard to deny the massive heights of their achievements.

They would keep going.

They always did.

But he feared for the day they’d lose it.

Feared for the missteps.

Feared for the new encounters he could feel taking shape.

Minho had never been so careless.

Once was an accident. Twice was a coincidence. What did that make a third time when it happened?

A misfortunate series of events?

Jisung worried his lip before giving in. He could stew on it as long as he wanted. He wouldn’t find any answers unless his hyung gave them. Not that Minho had chosen to give them anything, much less his company, since his return.

Unless it was their leader. Apparently.

Jisung tried not to feel so put out. Since when had he and Minho started keeping their thoughts from one another? 

_Quit being dramatic. He hasn’t hidden anything_ , he told himself gruffly. Jisung resettled himself, again, in his chair.

He spoke to Chan- but kept his eyes away.

“Anyway, the next time you and hyung get chummy, invite me in.”

“You’re always welcome, Jisung.”

There was a particular, patient, note in Chan’s tone.

Jisung chose to ignore it.

“The track?”

Chan hummed.

“Right.”

They moved onto their next project. 

* * *

Room 303.

Minho stood in the hall outside the door.

The facility felt quiet, but it had been this way for as long as he could remember. Serene. A gentleness to the nurses and the caretakers, a warmth to their faces belying the grief they had inside.

On the curve of a lake inside the city bounds, where a three-tiered fountain rose at its entrance, where the gravel was colored like desert sand and grass rose thin and tall.

The hospital center was gray mortar, white brick and tinted, bluing glass.

As familiar as his hometown. As familiar as his dorms.

A constant among change.

...He wished it weren’t so.

Minho knocked on the door.

A young voice called for him to come inside.

He pushed the handle on the door- and opened it gently.

A girl, in comfortable, simple clothes, her black hair bobbed short, brushed neat, half-knelt and half-sprawled on top of her bed, focused on the massive jumble of puzzle pieces before her.

She raised her head as he entered, eyes brightening. “ _Ohh_ , oppa.” Her eyes then stuck onto his head. “You hurt yourself.”

“That’s right.” Minho offered a small smile. “I got clumsy again.”

The lights overhead were so incredibly white.

The heat thrummed peacefully from the vents.

Hana returned to her puzzle. “You should be more careful,” she admonished. 

“I should,” he agreed. “Sorry I visited unexpectedly.”

“That’s okay. I wasn’t doing much. I finished the animation you told me about.”

Minho closed the door behind him. “Was it good?”

“It surprised me. I watched it twice."

He glanced around the room.

It had been changing steadily throughout the months.

First, it had been barren.

Next, it had been filled with personal comforts from home.

Later, those personal comforts had been too much to look at- too much to bear- and so they’d been removed.

However, they were now settled back in place along with a tall, yellow shelf of books and a white round table with a drawing tablet and pen. Stuffed animals were lined in an orderly fashion on the wall beneath the room’s only window- rectangular and largely-sized as it was.

Posters and childish alphabets. Almost out of place. But they'd been on for too many years to scrape away.

Minho sat in one of the wooden, white chairs at the round table.

There were two.

There had been a time when both were occupied. 

Not anymore. 

Never anymore.

Minho unlocked the tablet and went into the pictures. He scrolled backwards up the selection of images saved inside to the last date he’d visited. He clicked the most recent.

Properly, once more, he started to go through them. 

Occasionally, Hana mumbled to herself.

Occasionally, she hummed.

Occasionally, Minho joined.

He sang under his breath. She asked him what song. He opened a playlist saved on his cell. She made requests. 

Idly, agreeably, they spent their time.

Hana had been drawing birds of all kinds. Baby birds and grown birds. Birds in flight- birds grounded. Her hand was remarkable. Her attention to detail, incredible.

A thirteen-year old genius.

She had to have been.

These looked like they could be sold in a museum. These looked like she'd spent decades honing her craft.

Realism, by far, was the aspect of art Minho lacked in the most.

For her talents to be wasted was a shame. Hana had opened an Instagram. She had posted nothing, followed no one, friended none.

It wasn’t what she wanted.

She had created the account at her mother’s behest and never had the heart to delete it.

_‘She hopes I’ll post something someday.’_

Someday.

Minho mulled over the sentiment.

Someday for him too.

He would be a better person.

“Did you eat?” he questioned aloud.

“I ate,” she replied. “It wasn’t very much.”

“You weren’t hungry?”

“Not today.”

Minho locked the tablet and placed it on the table. He twisted in his chair, cracking his lower back and stretching.

His head throbbed for a passing second.

He winced. 

“Is that a new puzzle?” he asked.

“I got it as a gift." Hana attempted to hide her smile. "Dad got some other mental games and puzzles for me to try.”

Minho hated the pride he felt.

He hated how the joy creased the lines of her face in vivaciousness and life. 

“You finished them, didn’t you?” he said. 

“I did.”

Hana patted on her bed for him to join her.

He sat at the foot of it, one leg drawn to his lap, and looked at how much of the puzzle had been completed.

“Is this a thousand pieces?”

“He thought it would take a while. I’m trying to pace myself.”

A pile of jumbled pieces was near the edge of the bed.

Minho picked a few random ones in his palm.

“I could always mess it up for you,” he told her. “Make it more interesting. How about we flip it over?”

Hana looked at him. 

Minho looked at back.

They proceeded to take the puzzle apart in its entirety, overturning every single piece and shuffling them calmly. Quiet, demented giggles carried between them. 

Thirty minutes passed.

The only exchange of words they used was _‘nice’_ , _‘thanks’_ and _‘I think we messed up’_ , as they, much more, painstakingly put the pieces together once more. 

The cusp of an hour crept on them, ambling. By that time, there was a sense of confidence that had grown. One that bragged they could now speak without losing concentration on the task set before them.

And Hana talked.

“I spoke with the nurses a little. They said I was doing good. On the road to recovery.”

Minho fumbled with the piece between his fingers.

If Hana noticed, she didn’t say she saw.

“I heard,” he told her. “I’m glad.”

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she sighed.

It startled him.

He looked at her.

Her gaze was fixed on the blank puzzle they were creating.

“They said that and they sounded so happy. They were overjoyed. Except.” Hana lifted her head, the corner of her lips upturning. “I can’t run anymore.”

Minho’s froze. "What?"

Hana seemed surprised by his reaction- until realization settled- and fell in. "Ahh."

She tucked her hair behind her ears and preoccupied herself with the pieces of their puzzle again.

Except the pieces that she held, hovered, not quite able to find their place.

“The nurses didn’t tell you. I guess they're hoping I’ll get it back. But when things in your body stop working, that’s not really possible. How do you stop a body from breaking down?”

_It could happen._

Minho didn’t dare say it aloud.

It was difficult to swallow.

Far more difficult to speak.

“There’s a chair,” Hana said after a good long time. “I don’t like to see it in the room, so I ask them to keep it stored away until the day I need it.”

“You can still walk.”

“For now.”

“You won’t lose it.”

“Now you sound like my family.”

The curve to her lips was tuckered out. The bow to her shoulders worn.

Minho apologized softly. She shook her head. They looked at the puzzle.

They didn’t attempt to touch it anymore.

“Is your aunt okay?” Hana asked feebly.

Minho couldn't raise his eyes. “She’s doing better than ever,” he said weakly.

Silence in the room.

Years of knowing in the room.

“Are you doing okay?” Hana whispered.

“I’m doing better than ever,” Minho whispered in return.

They did not acknowledge the lie.

“It’s getting late,” said Minho.

He made no movements to go.

Hana grabbed the box of the puzzle near her pillow. She began to pack all that they’d left unfinished. Minho helped. She commented a few minutes when they finished.

“There’s an exhibit on Saturday. Reptiles at the zoo. Dinosaur bones.”

“You're going?” 

“Mm, of course. I can’t miss out on that. Once a year.”

Hana hesitated.

She glanced at Minho and shut the puzzle box closed.

“You could come,” she offered.

He wouldn’t.

They both knew.

Minho didn’t need to say it aloud but the words left his tongue.

On instinct, they always had.

As they always would.

“He’ll be there, won’t he?”

Hana smiled sadly.

“He’s my big brother. He’ll always be there.”

Minho was quiet.

After a moment, he pointed to his head kindly.

“Let’s keep this a secret from him, shall we?”

* * *

Void of thoughts, Minho stood in the darkened stretch of hall untouched by light.

His features, unreadable, glowed in the vending machine’s blue hue faintly.

He had once pondered over the safety of standing so close to such unnatural sources of light- but had decided- it didn’t matter. He had waited in front of microwaves and industrial-sized ovens in the bakeries of his friend from home that were far more lethal, according to science.

But what did science know?

_A lot._

Not enough.

There was a bench beside the vending machine, smooth plastic, white, without a back.

Plenty of room for one.

Barely room for any visiting family larger than three.

He mulled between two brands of canned coffee.

Milk or black.

Wouldn’t sweetness make the bitterness he felt worse?

Minho went for the dark roast.

A hand beat him to it.

The vending machine beeped as it processed the order.

An employee card was swiped in the payment pad and a second selection for milk coffee was made.

The machine beeped again.

“Long time no see. I didn’t think it’d be this soon.”

The uniformed guard at Minho’s side wasn’t half the surprise it should have been. 

An ordinary face, an ordinary build, a not-so-ordinary short but long length to the dark hair tied very small at the nape of his neck.

It wasn’t regulation. It wasn’t professional.

Yet for all the times it had been mentioned, a stern cut had never been enforced by the facility's board.

Hyunseop was consistently, actively waiting for the day he would receive the call he'd been fired.

“Hyung,” Minho greeted looking up.

Minho was tall.

Hyunseop was taller.

The older youth bent to retrieve the two bought cans of coffee. He offered Minho the dark roast. He smiled, lopsided. “This one’s on me.”

Minho fought the urge to grin. “I bought it with my money though?”

A beat of silence.

Flustered, Hyunseop looked at the wall. “...Let’s pretend you didn’t.”

They sat beside one another on the bench in companionable calm.

“You left your airpods.”

“I was wondering where they’d went.”

"I didn’t bring them with me. Let me know when you want to come and get them.”

“I’m not in a rush.”

He had an older set of headphones at the dorms.

Hyunseop cracked open his coffee. Minho followed suit.

“Your manager thinks I’m suspicious,” the older said.

“Which one?” 

“Which was it- he was wearing a purple shirt and glaring. I couldn’t get the airpods out of his hand the first time. He wouldn’t let go until I showed him some ID.”

“Donggyu-hyung.”

“You sure he wasn’t a cop in his past life? Or the parent of a bunch of kids?”

“Hyung said he was a fish.”

“...I have a hard time believing that.”

They settled.

They sipped on their drinks.

They thought over the last few days.

“Thanks for having me,” Minho said. “I’ll make it up to you- the days you missed.”

Hyunseop dismissed the notion without skipping a beat. “No need. I needed the break.”

He bent forward slightly and rested his elbows on his thighs.

“You’re more fun company than any of my current nightmares pretending to be dreams.”

Minho dropped his gaze.

They listened to the muted sounds of the south wing.

The terminal hall.

Murmurs and footsteps rolled on the walls, on the pictures and posters, sunlight casting in slants on the tiles of the spotless, stone-speckled floor.

Dampened breaths of laughter, peals of euphoria from the playroom around the corner where Minho knew toy houses, books, blocks of wood and shapes and crafts were sprawled on the colorfully, diverse cushions, mats and array of bean-bag chairs. Large, wide windows stretched along its eastern wall, showcasing the courtyard and its garden.

The green grass.

The blue skies.

“It really. Never gets easier.”

Hyunseop’s voice held no pity.

Minho looked past his drink, towards his sneakers, at the laces tied thrice, yet loosely knotted.

He didn’t say ‘yes’.

He didn’t say ‘I know’.

Close calls and near misses. They weren't the same as cold cement and goodbyes.

Six months.

That was how long it had been since he and Hyunseop met.

Since Minho had stepped from the revolving glass doors and found the older man seated at the very bottom of the stone steps.

The canned coffee Minho had bought for himself had found its way to Hyunseop’s hands, and they had sat- no different from now- speaking on the hard things. Speaking on the day- as every day was varied from the one that came before- and the one that came before the one that came before.

 _“I’m a guard,”_ Hyunseop had said a while later.

When his can was empty.

When his shoulders had finally given in and bent beneath the burden of helplessness and acceptance.

_“There’s nothing I can do but stand around and wait.”_

The memory was lucid. The words had never been more resonant and clear.

Minho recalled it all.

Next to him, Hyunseop fiddled with the lid of his can.

“It still gets to me. You’d think it wouldn’t. Seeing someone everyday, knowing what kind of future they have. How do you pretend to smile at their side? Is that even possible?”

Quietly, quietly, deep in his head, Minho stood in the shuttered dark and questioned the same.

“People like us can ask, but what's the use, right? I don’t know if answers exist.”

Hyunseop got to his feet. He slid his empty can of coffee into the trash bin at the bench’s side, then stepped over, slightly, to get another. “I had this fish once. I saw it in the store and begged my mom to get it.” He swiped his employee card once more. Pressed in his pin. “She told me ‘no’. I wasn’t ready. I wouldn’t take care of it. I was nine and barely cleaned my room or did chores. No. I shouldn’t bother to try.”

His gaze roamed slowly, machine blinking as he contemplated his next choice.

"' _It’s just a fish._ _They die anyway'._ That’s what I thought. What did she know? I came back the weekend after with cheap money and bought the smallest one. I took all the steps. I did everything right.”

Hyunseop selected milk coffee again.

“Nice tank. Good food. Fake plants. It was easy.”

The machine rattled.

His drink dropped.

He bent to retrieve it.

“I got scolded by my mom but I didn’t care. I was happy I got to prove her wrong.”

Hyunseop straightened and he smiled and it was an unguardedly, regretful sight. “That fish lived for years. We were so surprised. We got a bigger tank. More food. More toys. There wasn’t any warning. I came down the stairs one day and it was dead. Just like that. As easily as that. There hadn’t been a reason. My brother was so upset.”

Hyunseop rejoined Minho on the bench, leaning forward, laughing slightly.

Minho’s expression crumpled, breaking as he stared at the drink held between his legs, cupped between his hands.

“The fish bred in that store weren’t meant to live long. It was in their blood they’d die so quickly. Everyone knew. _‘I’ll get you another_ ’. I told my brother that. _‘It’s fine. I’ll replace it’."_

Hyunseop cracked his new can open, fondly, bitterly.

“That was such a stupid thing to say. Small things you buy for fun. Small things you toss away. I didn’t understand what those people had been trying to say. It was something that still lived and something that still died. My brother was younger but he understood it better than I ever could. He’d cried for so long I called him ‘lame’ and said he should get over it.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Minho.

“I didn’t know,” Hyunseop replied morosely. “Until it was too late.”

Life went on around them. But noiselessness held its umbrella high over their heads.

“Hana is doing better,” Hyunseop commented at last. “There’s a lot of hope for her case.”

Minho’s face fell further. “Yes. I know.”

He could feel the older boy’s gaze.

Contemplative.

“Minho…”

“It’s a good thing.”

Even as he said it, he could taste it.

The misery.

The hate.

_She shouldn't recover._

“Minho,” Hyunseop said again.

Minho exhaled quietly. He rolled back his shoulders and finally, finally raised his eyes. “It’ll make a lot of people happy.”

He looked at the wall ahead.

“If it turns out the way they want.”

Hyunseop didn’t say a word.

Minho waited for the derision, the disbelief, the judgment to come.

It didn’t.

Hyunseop’s hand dropped on top of his head, then slipped to the nape of his neck, squeezing softly. He draped an arm around Minho’s shoulder and shook it lightly.

“Family." His tone was full of knowing, not sympathetic, not unkind. “Sometimes those kinds of things are even harder to understand. We both ask ‘why’ so much, we forget the reason.”

Minho slumped.

Hyunseop laughed endearingly.

He gave Minho’s shoulder another shake.

“Don’t forget the reasons.”

He moved his arm.

Minho nodded.

He stood.

They had already spent several days catching up in the other’s cluttered apartment. What more was there to say?

Animations and shows. New releases and slow updates. The food they’d been eating. The kind of training they tried. The videos of routines they’d watched and followed.

His performances. 

Hyunseop’s forever single status.

They had argued over cleaning products and how to properly pack a box, taking half an afternoon of attempting to organize the older boy’s clutter.

_‘So this is why you’re single.’_

_‘My nonexistent skills in taping a box together isn’t the reason why I don’t have a girlfriend, Minho.’_

A weekend from now or two, they would meet and talk again. Minho was certain. He looked at Hyunseop with gratitude.

He lifted his can.

“The next one’s on me hyung.”

“Don’t get lost anywhere.”

* * *

When Minho pushed from the revolving exit doors of the facility, he felt unburdened, yet burdened, and free.

Outdoors the air was bitingly fresh.

He stretched. He swept his eyes across the front, stone steps, over the fountain, along the grass, to those traveling on the curved sidewalk below.

Thinking, thinking, thinking, thinking- sighing- he pulled out his phone.

He sent his message and walked.

Far from the hospital.

From the sights and sounds of the city.

Away from the highway, away from the roads. Fifty minutes to one-hundred-thirty.

His feet ached. His ankles felt unsteady. His back sought another place to rest as did his head. He counted the throbs when they came, noting how often and where.

This was the furthest from strenuous activity. He just wanted to...

Test the new boundaries. Hold the new weight.

His phone trembled.

Minho crossed the footpath of the bridge ahead.

Mindful of his steps, he retrieved his phone and regarded the lock screen. The name he saw was one he knew profoundly. 

Wind and cars, they passed him by. The river crossed below.

He could hear it.

He could see it without looking.

Water that tumbled, water that spilled, fumbling over rocks basking bright in the glow of the sun.

Minho did not answer the call.

The call, when it ended, did not come again.

What would it look like from the outside view? Walking away from the facts of life- or walking towards them. Who knew. 

He had faced the reality years ago. He had confronted the ugly truths it held. He had lived by the ideals of that 'another' and himself.

No religion, but faith.

No prayers, but trust.

Belief was not only bound by words.

 _Isn’t that right?_ he reflected silently.

The tomorrow he had so defiantly, mirthfully dismissed- the realities of tomorrows he had accepted, microscopically, inch by inch.

It was here.

Coalescing.

On his heels- or was it already here in front?

Minho gazed further along the footpath of the bridge, near the other end. A familiar figure waited.

Jeongin looked up from his phone relieved, although meeting Minho’s eyes, he tried to hide it quickly. He shuffled from the short stone of wall he’d been leaning on. A lighter colored jacket, jeans and mask. His blond hair was flat and neatly combed.

Minho lifted a brow. A smile tugged at his lips.

“I didn’t know we were having a date.”

“Forget it. Never with you.”

The words seemed to leave the younger boy’s mouth before he could stop them. His expression grew embarrassed. His eyes went anywhere but onto Minho’s face, flitting from the road to his left, to the river on the right, to Minho’s own clothes and then onto Minho’s bandaged head. Bandage aside, they were matching.

Minho, close enough, stopped walking.

In his chest bloomed a bout of inexplicable fondness, remorse and warmth.

“Look at me,” he said.

He watched the adam’s apple in Jeongin's throat bob. Watched the tremendous effort made by his teammate to lower his eyes from the injury Minho bore so that he could meet and, falteringly, hold Minho’s expectant gaze.

_“I’m sorry.”_

They spoke at the same time.

This time, Minho didn’t keep his smile hidden.

There was fright, there was weariness, there was hesitation and doubt in every line of his Jeongin's face.

Bleariness.

Circles and bags.

It hurt more than he could have ever guessed- knowing he had been the one to put it there- and let it gather.

There were easier ways.

With Jeongin, there always had been.

_But it was necessary._

That night on the stairs.

On-screen, off-camera, on the road, in the early mornings, in the dorm.

Jeongin was something understanding, something capable, something steady, growing and learning that took circumstance and his own shortcomings in stride. He hadn’t always been who he was now. But wasn’t that the same of all of them?

Wasn’t it a great marker of how far they’d come?

They were not so dissimilar.

Minho would gravitate in the quietness, in the sitting moments, in the rambunctious upheaval of games and fun, to the younger boy’s side without hesitation when his feet were so drawn.

It was too easy for things on the surface to be taken as law.

In the team, people believed there was Jisung. They wouldn’t be wrong.

However, there too, was their youngest- a soulmate too, different from the rest.

How lengthy or short their talks were and what they were about had never relied on a set limit or rule.

It was, as they were, something calmly found.

How easy it would be to confide it all- Minho had known. If it was Jeongin, Minho would tell it all. That made his teammate a threat.

Because Jeongin would ask, and Jeongin would wonder- but more than anyone else- Jeongin would _let him go._

Minho wasn’t prepared for that acceptance.

Acceptance would only further carve his choices into the stone.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing," Jeongin said. He searched Minho’s expression. As contrite as he sounded- he was smiling small too.

Minho stepped closer.

They turned and together leaned forward on the bridge’s rail, shoulders, elbows near.

The cold on their noses was frigid.

The comfort was warm.

But not for long.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Jeongin asked.

“No. Not a lot. Just some,” Minho answered.

“...I was scared.”

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

“I couldn’t.”

Minho glanced out the corner of his eye.

Jeongin’s jaw was tight. His gaze that observed the river seemed to go on for eons, deep and dark. “I put you there, in the hospital. On rest.”

“Truthfully, I was already on rest,” Minho answered, nudging his teammate, tiny. “I wasn’t doing much.”

“You could’ve broken open your skull.”

The seriousness with what it was said stole Minho’s next words.

Jeongin’s eyes traveled from the water, from the horizon, onto Minho’s, holding on. “They think it’s my fault.”

Minho frowned. “No one thinks that.”

“They do. I can see that they do.” Jeongin’s words wavered. “They’re accusing me. _‘Why were we on a walk?’._ _‘Why were we fighting’?”_

“We weren’t fighting.”

“Hyung, in the camera, it looks like I attacked and pushed you.”

“The camera is wrong. I keep saying.”

“That doesn’t make it any less of my fault,” Jeongin mumbled in persistence, disheartened. Regret pressed on each and every word. “I thought- if I asked, I could know. I could help.”

Minho’s heart was full, growing fuller.

He didn’t deserve it.

He was blessed with far, far too much care.

_How to lose it?_

“You know I’m grateful, right?”

“Hyung…”

Minho knuckled the younger boy in the arm, gingerly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Jeongin tried visibly to erase his distress.

They faced one another.

“You won’t tell me, will you?” Jeongin said.

How many times had Minho fallen? How many times had he climbed and lost his grip in the wake of others? Alone?

A laugh bubbled in his chest. He kept it tenderly inside.

The ladder was towering, tall. The answers were there.

He was certain that they were on the other end.

So further. A bit longer.

Not yet.

_Not yet. I will still..._

Things had never gone according to how he had imagined. When had he started letting that dictate his path ahead forward again?

It would not.

No matter what.

No matter who.

_I won’t let you._

Easy-going, Minho's eyes settled on his precious, younger friend.

Apology in his heart. Apology in his mouth.

He would not be stopped by anyone.

_Not even you. I'm sorry._

He held his pinky out.

Jeongin looked at it.

Minho smiled, sheepishness and earnestness a facade he had forever worn well. “It’s a bit too complicated for me to explain. I wanted to say it- before I stumbled down the stairs. It’s not as important as you think. Any of it.”

“You mean what I heard?”

“It was one-sided wasn’t it?” Minho pointed out. His other hand rose and tugged at a loose strip of gauze near his ear. An embarrassed laugh escaped. “Don’t you think if it was serious, I would tell everyone right away? When have I lied to the team? It's not like me.”

Jeongin didn’t look so sure.

Like Felix. 

What about Minho had changed so much that they had begun to stop believing him?

Minho poked his extended pinky into the taller boy’s chest. “Innie, I came here to make amends. I'm making a promise. I wouldn't let you guys worry. I would tell you.”

_I wouldn’t._

“I would let you know.”

_I wouldn’t._

“Trust me.”

_Trust me._

“Aren’t I your reliable hyung?”

There was something in Jeongin’s expression.

Minho couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Jeongin lifted his own pinky and locked it against Minho's before the older boy could ask.

Beneath the soaring clouds, Jeongin nodded his head.

He pressed their thumbs together.

His smile was steadfast.

“You are my hyung. If you were in trouble, I would be the first to know.”

“That’s right,” Minho agreed. He broke their hands. Relief blossomed in his chest. He reached up and fondly ruffled Jeongin’s hair. “You would know.”

Jeongin grabbed his wrist.

Hard.

Minho blinked.

“I really am glad you’re okay.”

Jeongin's words were kind.

He lowered Minho’s hand and squeezed it.

“A promise is a promise. You can’t take it back.”

Minho knew. 

Jeongin released his grasp.

His smile stayed.

He turned.

“Should we go home?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you guys how much I appreciate your comments and kudos'. I'm encouraged by it all. Thank you, sincerely <3  
> But also, bro- I really told myself this was going to be a 2k word chapter. Why.


	6. |Claret

Feathers swept the parting skies.

Soaring.

Flying far away.

The brown bird reflected in the brightness of his eyes.

Apples had dropped beside the tree.

Crimson streaked gold in the bowing blades of grass, the multitude laid half-buried in the darkened soil of the damp and wet earth.

He perched on a gnarled, burly branch, gripping another above in an idle way of balance.

Afternoon had broken, and it had spilled yellow light through the waxen clouds, unabashed and warm.

He breathed in the brisk air, young and at ease. Footsteps crossed under through the thrush.

Minho tore his gaze from the leaves and the boughs of the trees, looking below.

A familiar face greeted his kindly.

Beneath the sun, their shadows touched and grew as one.

“You still haven’t come down?”

“I was saving a friend.”

“Ahh,” his friend’s head tilted.

He regarded Minho curiously, then glanced towards the sky.

“He flew away.”

“That’s right.”

“And now you’re stuck.”

“That’s right.”

His friend snorted.

Minho met his gaze and together they grinned. “You’ll leave me here?”

“I won’t.”

There was a great, big smile on the cheerful features of his friend.

“You’re always helping others. Someone has to at least try and help you.”

"What do you take me for?"

Minho released his grip on his overhead branch, letting himself tumble backwards. 

He hooked his legs, swinging upside-down in glee.

"I don't need any saving!" 

Nevertheless, the boy underneath him offered out a hand.

Minho laughed.

Though they were too far apart, he still reached towards his friend. 

* * *

“Hyung.”

Minho held his wound.

Sitting on the floor, cross-legged, he folded, hiding from the mirror and the noise.

The hand that had been on his injury moved over his ear. Sound, dissonant and thin, pulled piercingly in his head.

The music stopped. The pain, however, didn’t.

Minho touched his brow to the woodboards and waited patiently for it to end.

Hyunjin, by the stereos and the laptop plugged in, awkwardly looked around.

Their manager, more of a hyung than any sort of imposing, supervising figure, watched Minho from the couch along the wall. He was surrounded by haphazardly tossed coats and bags and a torn-open, six-pack of water.

Donggyu was not overly-prepared. He was _prepared-_ as he knew he’d need to be moving treacherously forward.

The kid he had carried from a music building one-comeback-in with an injured ankle. The kid he had wheeled through an airport with _another_ injured ankle, under the flashing cameras and phones of the- for once- respectfully distanced fans. The same kid who, in a competitive game of ‘keep-the-shoe’ months prior, had pretended to hurt that _exact ankle_ in order to cinch a win as Seungmin had swept his feet from under him.

That kid was stubborn.

Spirited.

Dedicated.

But karma was too- and Donggyu had watched not that long afterwards in the warm, summer night as Minho jumped on an unseen stub of steel with his socked foot and went down with a yell.

Expect the unexpected. _That_ was the golden rule.

It was exactly why, upon hearing Minho’s request to head to the dance rooms with Hyunjin, Donggyu had packed an extra first-aid kit and reminded his ward once again what he was allowed and not allowed to do.

Minho had agreed pleasantly enough, but Donggyu had repeated it for a third time just in case the younger boy thought no one had noticed when he’d attempted to finesse a helicopter spin in the middle of the living room.

They had booked an hour in the studio, the two dancers had ditched their belongings to stretch, and Donggyu had pretended to be on his phone- despite the fact they all knew that he wasn’t.

The stretching had turned to listening to songs, which had turned to small singing, which had turned to grooving, which had turned- inevitably- to freestyling as they ‘walked to the beat’.

If Minho so much as attempted a handstand, as they knew he’d be tempted to do, Donggyu would cut him off.

He had made it clear.

So clear, that Minho and Hyunjin had both pretended to fall asleep during the ride over.

Three days ago, Minho had gone with Jaehyun to the doctor.

They had double-checked his head and swiftly removed the sutures of his wound. The area had become mottled in bruises, painful to touch, and although Jaehyun had told Donggyu that Minho had confessed it still hurt, the boy hadn’t done much else in the facility bathroom but poke and prod the skin in fascination.

Chan had taken the time in one of the toilet's of the dorm to double-check for himself once Minho had returned.

The two had spent a good while speaking in low tones, indiscernible from outside the closed door. A door that had opened only when Changbin knocked, and had cracked just enough to let the shorter boy slip in. 

Observing from the end of the hall, Donggyu had seen Minho wiping an eye and Chan, with a tissue, wiping the other.

The door had closed again.

Jisung, at Donggyu’s side, had bitterly scoffed. _“I guess that’s not for us to know too.”_

Because Felix had returned days ago, unspeaking on his excursion, and Minho and Jeongin had come back in the late hours of the evening, saying nothing except that they had gone to eat dinner.

_“Don’t you think we’re being excluded?”_

It wasn’t Donggyu’s place to answer Jisung’s question. How much of their personal lives they chose to share among one another had never been anything he had sought to exploit or control. They were grown enough to handle their own affairs. Jaehyun was at least right about that. They weren't parents. They weren't bosses. 

And yet.

Donggyu set aside his phone and started to get off the couch.

Minho uncurled himself, groaning, before he could. “That was annoying,” he said, rolling his neck carefully.

Hyunjin moved from the stereos. “You good, hyung?”

“Mmnh. This is what happens when you don’t drink enough water.”

Hyunjin looked at Donggyu. Donggyu wrangled a bottle from its plastic holding and tossed it over. Hyunjin caught it easily.

He went to Minho and held it against his friend’s cheek. 

“You wanna go back?”

“No.”

Minho grabbed the bottle with a grateful noise.

“There’s a move I was looking at last night. I wanted to-” he cut himself off.

He and Hyunjin not so discreetly shared a look.

They looked at Donggyu over their shoulders. 

Hyunjin half-bowed with a nod in their manager’s direction, unprovoked. “Yes~ We will not.” 

Minho pulled a face, petulantly, but drank from his bottle of water without complaint.

Hyunjin flumped beside him.

Minho threw his arm into the other boy’s lap.

Hyunjin picked it up with three fingers like he was holding a used tissue. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Help me stretch.”

“You’re so needy,” Hyunjin told him. Regardless, he grabbed the arm properly and massaged it. “Did you get a headache?”

“I got dizzy.”

“Mm, the heat is on.”

“I’m not cold.”

“I didn’t ask, I said the heat was on.”

“I told you I’m not cold.”

“So if you’re warm you’re more likely to get dizzy.”

Minho drank more water. He drank until the bottle crinkled, and its sides suctioned in, obnoxiously loud as could be. 

Hyunjin protested it with a yell. "Knock it off!" 

“Ah, so noisy!” Minho complained. He screwed the cap back on his dented bottle and rolled it aside.

Hyunjin tossed his arm.

Minho rolled on top him and they wrestled, somewhat pathetically, to get the upper-hand.

A short minute later, Minho sat on his Hyunjin’s stomach, triumphant, one leg tucked into his lap. The other was folded on the floor securely as he leaned over his dongsaeng and patted him on the cheek.

“What were you trying for?” he asked sweetly.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and kept them on the ceiling.

“I was wrong,” he said dispassionately, equal lightness in his tone. “Please let me go.”

Minho opted not to.

He spent an indefinite number of minutes jabbing his fingers into Hyunjin’s ribcage instead, tickling and dragging his nails.

Hyunjin hollered for their manager.

Donggyu took a seat on the couch, watching from afar, suffering a great internal conflict.

Like a predator with its prey, Minho quit torturing his bandmate once Hyunjin ceased fighting. He flipped Hyunjin over and re-sat, backwards, slapping a tune on the other boy’s butt before kindly working out the knots in Hyunjin’s lower back.

A peacefulness settled.

Minho was glad for it. It had been an unsettling few days, moreso than before.

He had never brought up the conversation on the phone Felix had overheard, and Felix had never either. His younger friend hadn’t spoken to Minho at all, really, aside for several smiles and to ask in regards to his injury how he was.

But Minho had felt Felix’s contemplation.

His observation.

The quiet ascertainments.

And because of what must’ve been a poor reaction to the inquiries, the younger boy hadn’t approached him again.

Was it wise to seek him out? Or let the situation untangle and realign itself in a working order?

Minho wiggled his elbow into Hyunjin’s overly-wound muscles, listening past the gripes for any true sounds of pain. Finding none, he dug deeper, thinking further.

If it was downplayed correctly, it could resolve itself.

Felix didn’t hold grudges. He held worries.

So long as Minho didn’t give him reason to do so, then what doubts Felix clung to would be let go too.

Right?

_Right._

Minho didn’t contemplate on it any longer.

It was difficult and it hurt.

He attributed it to his head.

Four-to-five weeks, that was how much longer the symptoms could occur.

Nausea, exhaustion, anxiety, changing moods and soreness.

It was sounding like a remixed rendition of _Side Effects_ \- one he didn’t actually care to perform.

And if the symptoms remained?

Minho didn’t linger on the implications. He was no stranger to cause and effect. He wasn’t ignorant to the meaning of conditions and acceptance. He just fought it. Because he could. Because it had never stopped him in his daily life before.

Pinky twined with Jeongin’s own, he had asserted that once more. 

The days and weeks would continue on.

Forever.

Until _he_ decided it was done. Not the other way around.

His face fell.

Well.

Only just for now.

He wasn’t alone on the crossroads.

He was just the one digging his heels in behind as the other led.

_“And now you’re stuck.”_

_“That’s right.”_

There was a message on his phone he hadn’t answered yet.

“Hey hyung.”

“What is it?”

Hyunjin rested his chin on his hands. Sobering. “What are you thinking of?”

He felt Minho pause.

He felt Minho chuckle, the vibrations soft and gentle, as his friend switched elbows and finished unraveling the kink above his hip.

“I had a dream,” Minho said.

“Just now?”

“A long time ago.”

Hyunjin mused. “Was it a good one?”

“Sometimes I remember that it was.” 

* * *

In the lobby, Jisung and Seungmin met.

Not because they wanted to, but through sheer coincidence.

Though judging by the expression Jisung wore, it wasn’t one he enjoyed.

Still, as they stepped into the elevator, Seungmin held the door and waited for his same-aged friend to join him. Virgos always were the worst at pretending they weren’t bothered.

So that made two of them.

They held their coffees indifferently.

“Thirsty much?” Jisung commented.

“I was going to ask you the same,” Seungmin replied.

They both held a cup in each of their hands.

The elevator door closed.

Seungmin hit the button for one of their sub-basement levels. Jisung didn’t hit another. They were definitely heading to the certain destination then.

“Why are you here?” Seungmin asked. 

Jisung returned the question. “Why are _you_ here?”

The elevator buckled and descended.

“I was already with noona, practicing vocals. I’m done. Now I’m taking a break.” Seungmin glanced over at his teammate. “Someone asked you to come?”

Jisung watched their levels count down. “No one needed to."

He was silent until they hit their floor and silent until they stepped out. When they turned the same direction to the hall on the left, then he explained.

“I was bored. There was nothing to do at home and I wanted to see what they were working on.”

“They aren’t working on anything, I think.”

“If you think that hyung didn’t try to stand on his head at least once, you’re wrong.”

“You wanted to see how he was.”

“Not so different from you.”

“I guess, but like I said, I was already here. I didn’t really make a trip out of the way.”

Jisung raised a brow. “Either way it's not a big deal?”

They rounded a corner, footsteps loud in the quiet calmness of the hall.

It really wasn't that big of a deal at all. 

It dug beneath his skin a little that everyone assumed otherwise.

There was nothing wrong with being worried. There was nothing wrong with being _considerate._

There was nothing wrong with wanting to look out for and take care of a friend who’d been tired and struggling and in so much pain he’d been sitting on the lid of a toilet trying not to cry as Chan poked his fingers around.

Minho didn’t want to talk about it with Jisung.

Fine.

Jisung didn’t want to talk about it either.

Unless his hyung wanted to.

Which he didn’t.

That had been so well-established by now he had given up trying. Let Minho come to him on his own.

Yet here Jisung was, a joke of himself, going to his other half anyway.

Minho was drained.

Bothered by the way his hair sat on his head.

Irritated at the way his clothes felt.

Fed-up with the un-comfiness of the living room couch, his bunk and the chairs.

Did he think no one noticed?

How he stuffed his bananas in the corners of his mouth? How he dug his spoon into the halves of grapefruits messily cut with frustration? The morning he ate a forkful of pre-prepped food and old takeout from six different containers, finding taste for none and chugging water in replacement?

The way he and Jeongin were strange. The way he and Felix were odd? 

Jeongin didn’t sleep.

Even after having returned home with Minho after going out and meeting him, Jeongin spent the nights, eyes searching, face casted in the white glow of his phone.

Felix didn’t even _talk_ to Minho- and what was _that_ about? Not like before. Had the end of their trip to the bunny cafe they posted about been that horrible they wouldn't speak of it at all?

They were moving into the fourth day since.

Sleeping and eating and waking and thinking, sleeping and eating and waking and thinking. Youtube and music. Mobile and music. Paper and pen- to bed.

Jisung wasn’t trapped inside.

Except sometimes he felt like he was.

A world full of interesting things. That was what was waited beyond the doors. But when he walked through it alone, those interesting things became big and small, welling fears.

Sometimes the only way out was with a friend. 

Changbin was good in that way. Reliable. Safe. Comforting. _Good._

Inherently good.

More than Jisung.

Inherently good like Felix and their leader. Like Seungmin. Like Jeongin.

Like Minho.

Hyunjin was good too.

It had just taken them both time to see it.

So where did that leave Jisung?

_Almost good too?_

They found the door they’d been looking for.

Behind Seungmin, Jisung glanced at the coffees he held and hoped the one he’d grabbed for Minho hadn’t gone cold.

In the front corner of the practice room without sound, Hyunjin was leisurely running through the motions of an unfamiliar routine. Minho was watching, the look on his face familiar.

He was thinking. Thinking of the way his fellow teammate moved. Not critiquing- studying- as he had studied all their differences before.

“What is it?” Seungmin asked, looking at Hyunjin as well.

Minho glanced in the mirror at the newly-entered duo. “If we get invited to another award ceremony, you’ll know.”

“Idea bank,” said Seungmin.

“Idea bank,” Minho confirmed.

There was a lilt to his lips, rising, pleased.

Jisung could appreciate it.

They were all idea banks. Minho was no exception.

His hyung had been on-track to become a professional choreographer and dancer. On the times he was stumped, he was stumped, but when inspiration hit there were almost too many string-tied pictures to untangle and sort.

Sections, transitions, formations. Where, how, who? Who was leading? Who was switching out? 

From the back, he could see the execution. From the sides, he could follow the formation. From the center, he could enjoy.

 _A choreographer’s pride_.

There was something like that.

Taking lead was welcomed, but how often was it wanted?

Jisung wondered. 

For Minho persisted, consistently, it was the result of the group that brought him satisfaction. There was love for his members.

There was love for their team.

There was joy and pride. 

_‘Didn’t we look cool?’_

In the bunk, exhausted, lying in Jisung's lap. 

He watched their MV for _God's Menu_ again.

_“Didn’t we look cool?”_

_“...You did really good.”_

Was it a natural thing to put others before yourself?

Or was it learned?

Jisung believed it was common sense. But just because he knew it, didn’t mean it was so easy to enact. 

_How come?_

That’s what he wanted to ask.

_How come it's so easy for you?_

“Is there something on my face?”

Jisung returned to where he was, blinking as Minho gazed up at him steadily from where he sat on the floor. Minho's expression gave away nothing. Yet said everything.

_Is there something wrong?_

“No.” Jisung presented the coffee in his left hand.

His voice wasn’t quite as loud as he thought. He brightened it, just slightly.

“There’s nothing to it.”

Minho accepted the drink, though his eyes never left Jisung’s own. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Jisung looked at him, a tiny bit dubiously. “Well what do you want me to do about that?”

Minho’s eyes and lips curved.

He laid himself flat out on the floor.

“Scratch my back,” he intoned.

Jisung stepped on his ass.

“Forget it.” 

* * *

Changbin had been busy for a ridiculously extensive period of time.

From the top of his bunk, Chan acknowledged it, wondered about it, ignored it and said-

“Hey, I’m gonna ask you a question.”

“Do I have to think a lot?”

“I dunno, maybe. Why?” Chan rolled onto his side and peered over the rail of his bunk. “What are you doing?”

Changbin, sitting pretzel-style, fiddled with a set of knives. “A new hobby,” he answered, sounding half-embarrassed.

An assortment of varied-size wood chunks were scattered on his sheets, along with his laptop and phone, both of which were playing silent tutorials.

“I didn’t know you had an interest.”

“I don’t.”

Changbin was wearing the exact same clothes he’d been wearing in the morning, a t-shirt and sweats- and Chan wondered if his bandmate had moved at all since Chan had climbed into the bunk and passed out at eight a.m.

He had checked his phone not so long ago, the hour rolling into late afternoon three. For all he knew, most of the members were still in the dorm.

Or maybe they’d gone out.

Felix had messaged in the group chat in the wee hours between the break of dawn if anyone had wanted to get food. Perhaps the other six who had read the message before Chan had been waiting for Minho to surface and say ‘let’s go’. But their expectations were already low.

Aside from shorthand responses and emojis, Minho hadn’t said much at all.

His head was probably giving him trouble.

 _Or it’s more like,_ Chan considered, _he’s just gotten worse from before._

No one had answered Felix at six in the morning aside from Jeongin- who agreed to go for lunch- and Chan who had questioned what the hell they were all doing up.

Had they just woken or had they never slept?

‘Family meetings’- that’s what he called it- when he gathered them in a bedroom and had them speak their mind and feelings.

It had been something of a bi-weekly affair as their promotions from the year-end closed and their extended time spent in the dorms, once more, began to build. They hadn’t had one in a while but it was almost prudent they did, wasn't it? 

A wise man would approach their wayward member first, alone. But Chan had made that attempt already in the bathroom and failed. He couldn't force anyone to talk about what was bugging them. Or he could- but experience had taught him that would end up worse. 

It was the core of the whole dispute. 

There was a page Minho disclosed on the matter, a clear-stated 'Leave me alone about it' though the words had never been directly stated aloud. 

It'd be impressive how good Minho had gotten at staying in their presence whilst simultaneously shutting himself off from the world, if it wasn't concerning such a serious matter. 

He and Minho talked plenty. They sat in each other's company plenty. For that to, quite brazenly, stop, was far from discreet. 

Chan had tried.

He had _tried._

If Chan asked, the answer was _‘Nothing~’._

If Chan pressed, the answer was _‘I can’t, I’m sleepy. Doctor's orders. Go away'._

And Minho would himself in his bunk, curtain drawn, invisible until the one who pestered him that day had gone away.

Honestly it was annoying.

But Chan was persistent.

And when he was annoyed- Chan was demanding.

It was a quickfire combo that had yet to fail him when fully employed. Whatever Minho’s facade was it would surely crumble once Chan sat down with him, on anything other than a toilet, and they _talked._

That day in the rain. What had Minho been about to say?

Minho wasn’t the only one struggling.

The others were too.

_Conflict resolution._

Chan sighed.

He really… _really_ hated opening that book again.

“Why’d you shut up- what’s the question?”

“Hm?”

“Your question.”

Chan gathered his bearings quickly. Changbin looked at him, searchingly, confused. The long carving knife he held was pointed upright. Chan eyed it with righteous wariness. “Please put that down before you take your eye out.”

Changbin did as requested. He asked again.

“The question?”

Yeah.

Right.

Chan sat properly and cracked his neck.

“Have you ever had a close friend threaten to end your career?”

“What?” Changbin lifted his brows. “No? What kind of question is that?” He studied his leader. “Like a joke?”

“Like not a joke. An actual, serious threat.”

"Then yeah. No.” Changbin sat on the edge of his bed more attentively than before. “Is someone doing that to you?”

“No, no,” Chan assured him. He pursed his lips, pondering. “But that’s not something you would say to anyone you care about, is it? Your sister wouldn't say that to you.”

"My sister would say a lot of things to me." 

"Okay, but she wouldn't make you cry on purpose, right?" 

“I don’t know,” Changbin answered, sounding like he actually knew very well. “Well she wouldn't make me cry on purpose. But she's said similar things before. Doesn't it depend?”

He picked up the knife he had set down, clearing his throat. He fumbled for the sharpening stone that had come with his kit.

He ignored his friend’s astute gaze.

“Changbin?”

“Ah?”

“What about it?”

“What about what?”

“What does it depend on?”

Changbin hesitated. Held the stone. Put it to the knife and paused. 

“...The reason behind it.”

Chan regarded him astutely. “Which is…?”

“To protect them.” Changbin began to use the stone on his blade. He wasn't all too sure he was doing it right.

Whatever.

Whatever to occupy his hands and keep his gaze on something other than Chan’s keen-witted stare as he expanded. 

“If I think it wont turn out okay. If I think they'll get hurt, or someone else will because of it. If it was dangerous, I might say it to protect a friend.”

“Like a friend who wants to swim with sharks for a living.”

Changbin blinked. That was... not expected. He agreed all the same. 

“Right. Like a friend who wants to swim with sharks. Sharks are pretty harmless but there are still risks. If there was a close friend dead-set on doing it for a living, I wouldn't say I was gonna end their career. But I might try and stop them for a bit." 

“Mm, yeah. I can see that,” Chan acknowledged. “I haven’t really known anyone who chose to go in a cage of sharks, but I’ve known a few people who’d be willing to throw themselves off a mountain for the thrill and likes.”

Changbin couldn’t help it. He lifted his head, bewildered. “You know someone who’d do that?”

Chan beamed with a half-dimpled grin. “You’re looking at him. Well- I don't really care for the 'likes'." His gaze on Changbin was considerably brighter than before. "We could go together- with the proper gear.”

Changbin held up a hand. "I'll hard-pass. You're insane."

Chan burst into a loud and cheerful laugh. “So I am.” 

He leaned on his bunk railing comfortably, wiggling his brows at his friend.

“So say I'm insane. But guess what you are."

"What?"

"Not very good at keeping secrets.”

Changbin’s expression was the epitome of ‘caught off guard’.

“What secrets?”

Chan’s grin became wolfish.

One of terrifying perception.

“You tell me.” 

* * *

There were more awkward silences than the one they were in.

There were.

Weren’t there?

Felix stared at his sad attempt at napkin origami, working extremely hard not to let the discomfort get into his head.

The last thing he needed was a pulse to start dancing in his throat and his clammy palms to set themselves on fire. 

This was supposed to be a _nice_ outing.

A time for perceived 'normalcy' to return.

This was the day he had resolved to cheer himself up, and remind himself, that they had not all suddenly spiraled into an alternate universe where the balance had been upended, bizarre. His bandmates were _not_ strangers, in the blink of an eye, soulless and aloof. Phony and disorganzed. 

Except reality was often damning and disappointing. 

There was absolutely no way any of them believed Minho was alright.

Just like there was absolutely no way any of them believed Jeongin was fine and Felix wasn’t currently conflicted in two whole thirds of his mind about how to fix the mess he'd kick-started over a bowl of cornflakes. 

Because Felix had done that, hadn’t he?

Sitting with Jeongin in the kitchen. Sitting with Minho in the cafe.

He must’ve been aiming for a third strike.

Here he was again in a family noodle restaurant, across from their youngest once more.

Their food hadn’t arrived yet though they’d been waiting thirty minutes, and while Felix usually didn’t mind, in this screaming silence there was nothing worse.

“So…”

Felix set the napkin down. He picked up his chopsticks, broke them, drummed them lightly on the table’s edge.

“That’s irritating, hyung,” said Jeongin.

Felix stopped.

He tucked them beneath a napkin near the window.

“Right. Sorry.”

“For what?”

It wasn’t meant to be answered.

Jeongin leaned against the window, taking in the view outside.

Traffic was busy. A plethora of people passed on the sidewalks, busy with their lives beneath the pale sun. The days had gotten warmer and the nights colder.

Felix had dressed nice in comparison to the boy across from him who was remarkably dressed down. For a person who had been on speaking terms with their hyung again, he seemed incredibly apathetic.

Why had he accepted Felix’s invitation if he hadn’t been in the mood?

Why had Felix let _himself_ come if he wasn’t in the mood either?

They had left the dorms late, a horrible start anyway. 

Felix had overslept and Jeongin hadn’t come to wake him.

When Felix had stumbled from his bedroom to apologize to his bandmate on the couch, Jeongin had dismissed it and told him he’d wait.

_“There’s nothing else I’m doing so it’s fine.”_

Even so.

Felix crossed his ankles.

Uncrossed them.

Fiddled with a napkin for the third time before sighing loudly and tossing it on the table.

“Alright.”

Jeongin tore his attention from the window. Felix gestured.

“This- we don’t have to do this if we’re tired. We can go home.”

Jeongin furrowed his brows, looking confused for reasons Felix couldn’t begin to put together. “I thought you were hungry.”

“I’m not.”

His stomach growled.

Felix cursed it to the deepest pits of the earth.

“You’re not feeling good?” Jeongin asked.

Felix might’ve been touched by the concern had there been any in the other boy’s voice.

But there was very little of anything in his voice at all, despite the considerate eyes and scrutinizing expression.

“I feel fine,” Felix told him. “You seem a little off.”

“Why?” Jeongin blinked and drew himself up. A mirror-image to a certain hyung. “I feel fine too.”

Felix gawped. “Okay, but-”

“Can we not talk about it?”

Felix kind of wished he couldn’t.

Except it was impossible with the question on the forefront of his mind.

“What happened with you and hyung?”

“Which hyung, we have a lot.”

“You know who.”

“I don’t.”

Felix twisted the napkin in front of him, smiling, far from genuine- but a hundred times more sincere than the guilefulness Jeongin wore. “We both know I mean Minho-hyung. You're going to act?”

Jeongin shrugged. “There isn’t an act. We apologized to each other and that was it. I don’t know what more you want me to say.” He rested his arms on the table, eyeballing the napkin Felix was picking apart before them.

“If you made up, then why are you acting like enemies?”

Jeongin scoffed, tiny and soft, a peculiar smile on his lips. “Me? Why are _you_ acting like enemies with him?”

Felix gawked. “I’m- I’m not.”

“You won’t even look at him.”

“I look at him," he defended. 

“From the other side of the room. Does that count?”

“You know you-” Felix fumbled for words. He knit his brow, bothered, and clenched his hands around the bits and pieces of torn napkin.

He exhaled.

“Nevermind.”

He looked at the table, frustration holding him, suffocating and hard.

He should’ve sat on a bench somewhere or in a patch of grass and enjoyed the fresh air and sunny afternoon by himself.

Enemies?

He and Minho were the furthest from the sort.

They had a disagreement.

Felix had confided in Chan.

That was _it._

He wasn’t ignoring Minho. If anything, his hyung was doing a bang-up job of pretending they’d never had that conversation at all.

Felix couldn’t sit and canvass the situation already more than he had. Short of shouting from the rooftops for everyone to _confess_ , he had done everything he could.

Well- aside from approaching Minho. But he hadn’t yet gauged what the appropriate length of time was before it was alright to try again.

“I’m only trying to help,” Felix said.

“Don’t,” Jeongin advised. “It won’t do you any good.”

It wasn’t said unkindly.

Felix felt the slapping sting anyway.

Their food arrived.

Two steaming bowls and a tray of side dishes were set on the table with rice.

Jeongin smiled and thanked their waiter politely.

Felix managed the bare minimum of human decency.

Jeongin split a pair of chopsticks, digging into the meal, unbothered.

"Oh. It's pretty good."

Felix watched the smoke of his noodles curl and rise.

Maybe he really ought to let it go.

Eventually they’d all get sick of pretending. 

* * *

_|meet me_

_|why_

* * *

The evening found half of them in the living room of the dorm, filtering through chaotic rounds of various card games.

It was loud.

It was noisy.

It was familiar.

Jisung and Changbin hollered over three reverses and a skip. Jeongin looked at both their cards. Seungmin grabbed the extra deck from the box at his side to take all the plus-two’s and plus-four’s.

Hyunjin and Chan were at the table in the kitchen, listening to the rambunctious behavior as they played a boring game of _‘Connect Four’._

“Nothing today?” Chan inquired casually.

Hyunjin grabbed a red piece and dropped it in the furthest column, securing his loss. “Nothing interesting.”

He reconsidered.

“We did end up trying a windmill on the floor and some spins but it didn’t work. Gyu-hyung almost took off Jisung’s head.”

“I feel like I dreamed that once.”

“What’d you end up doing?”

Chan emptied the tray of black and red pieces. He reset the game although neither of them particularly wanted to continue the play. “I slept late. Changbin and I bonded.”

Hyunjin snorted. “That’s why he’s hiding from you?”

Chan didn’t hide his bemusement. “He’s not doing a very good job.”

Hyunjin didn't disagree. 

Chan looked at their pieces on the table, unevenly divided.

“It wasn’t anything I didn’t already know.”

“You knew a lot then?”

"I know everything, Hyunjin." 

About what? Hyunjin wondered. His eyes fell to the untouched plate of food beside him. “I thought hyung was getting something in the room.”

Chan followed his teammate’s gaze. “Guess he decided to take a shower. You all were smelling pretty rank.”

“That’s because he threw a bunch of mud at me.”

“I’d ask if you did something, but I know you didn’t.”

“That’s right.”

They started their fourth round of Connect Four.

Hyunjin sighed.

“It's a hassle. He does things on his own.”

In the bathroom down the hall, Minho ran the shower on the full heat.

Fully-clothed, on the dry tiles, he vomited on the floor.

* * *

_| your answer_

* * *

The weekend came unapologetically fast.

Changbin threw his duffel in a locker and spun the combination, then returned to the main floor.

He moved through the machines with purpose, the expression on his face one that said had been preparing a speech for well over an hour and still had reservations. 

He bypassed the weights. He bypassed the cycle machines. He spared a glance at the slew of monitors on top of the ellipticals, displaying news and dramas and commercials. 

The mornings were quiet, filled in rhythmic sounds. The churning gears, the repetitive sets, as some walked and others lifted bars. It was usually calming. 

Not so much now.

Changbin cut through the aisles with precision and headed for the treadmills.

He went to the one in the center, already occupied.

He stepped up onto the side and easily pressed the button to ‘Stop’.

Minho’s stare was mordacious.

Changbin looked at him. “Were you busy?”

Minho ripped his earbuds out. They swung on his sweaty neck flustering quickly in rage. He cursed.

Changbin roamed his gaze over the stats displayed on the machine. 5.7 kilometers. 50 minutes.

That was a poor time.

He hopped off the machine.

Minho did too- as if he were about to slap off Changbin’s head.

Changbin stepped out of range. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“What are _you_ doing?” Minho fumed.

He snatched the small towel that had been hanging on the arm of the treadmill and rubbed it angrily on his face. He wasn’t mindful enough of his bruised forehead.

He scowled and cursed again.

“I could’ve flown off,” he said bitingly.

“The machine slows itself,” Changbin replied, only mildly fearing for his life. 

He glanced around.

They were getting a few looks.

Regardless, he set his hands on his hips and canted his chin towards his older friend. “I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy.”

“It’s been almost two weeks. I think I’m fine.”

The snarl in Minho’s tone had grown. He brushed by Changbin and headed for the benches and bars.

Changbin followed.

Minho crouched to twist and rip the clamps holding the heavy weights in place. He replaced them with ones far lighter and clamped them back on. He straightened with narrow glower.

“Gonna watch or help me?”

Changbin walked with him the short distance to an open bench. He waited for Minho to get adjusted, then assumed position to spot him from behind. 

Minho began his row. 

Changbin contemplated briefly.

His teammate could have set fire to the ceiling with the way his eyes were burning.

Well.

It wasn’t like Minho could actually attack with a massive bar occupying his hands.

“You got slower,” he said.

Minho’s expression grew fascinatingly more angered. He spoke labored from the effort of lifting.

“I was in the hospital. What do you _expect?_ ”

"I don't know." Changbin took the other’s own words and effortlessly threw them back. “Hasn’t it been two weeks? You should be fine.”

“Changbin-ah.”

Minho’s voice was deeply low. He held the bar above him and didn’t bring it back down.

“Shut up.”

Changbin assisted the last few rows of the set in agreeable silence.

When Minho finished, Changbin raised the bar and set it on the stand between them.

Minho’s chest was heaving.

It took everything in Changbin not to set his palm on it and physically will his friend to take it slow.

Minho seemed to hear the unsaid message, the aggravation lingering, but the heat gone from his eyes.

They went through another set, far, far more tedious than the one before.

Changbin saw.

The trembling of his friend’s legs and arms- not caused by the weight in their hands but the weight he carried and kept alone.

“You didn’t compliment my carving,” he said aloud. 

“Carving.” Minho’s gaze, for once, flickered from the ceiling in Changbin's direction. “What carving?” he breathed.

“The picture I sent.”

“ _That?”_

The rushed exhale with what it was nearly exclaimed came as Minho’s arms collapsed and the bar pinned to his chest.

Changbin lifted it off swiftly and dropped it to the floor with a grunt. He gave Minho the towel that had been ditched by his feet.

“It was neat, right?”

“It was a block of wood.”

“No it wasn’t. I carved it.”

Minho held his towel across his eyes and bent over. “You carved a block of wood out of another block of wood?”

“It was a duck.”

“It was a square.”

“It was hard.”

Minho continued to hold his towel on his face for a while longer.

Then he pulled it away and half-sat, one elbow keeping him propped up.

He looked at Changbin. Serious. Burnt-out.

“Don’t turn off the machine like that again.”

“I won’t. Sorry.”

“What did you want?”

“You should be more careful.”

Minho squinted. “I already _said_ -”

“Not about that.” Changbin cut him off.

He paused, holding Minho’s gaze.

Importantly.

Intently.

He said it again more slowly. 

"...Not about that." 

* * *

In the narrow, changing room stall, Minho leaned against the door.

He had felt his way to the locker room, sight dwindling, mouth tasting rotten.

By the time he had made it inside, he had stopped caring about how heavily he walked and how terribly he fumbled to unlatch his locker.

He hadn’t been quick enough, and the floor had tilted with the walls and the lights and steel beneath his hands.

Shaking.

He couldn’t hear his heart.

Minho had closed his eyes.

Steadied himself.

Felt for his pulse at his wrist. At his neck.

It wasn’t there. But that had been fine.

He had moved from the lockers to the changing stalls then.

He had shut the door and latched it shut and told himself not to check for a pulse again.

It was there.

He swallowed, tongue dry.

He held a hand beneath his nose and let the blood seep between his fingers.

He swallowed again.

He worked his mouth.

He swallowed again and again.

He slid down the door and sat.

He wiped the blood on his shirt.

He shivered. _Why?_

Why had he picked the shirt with no sleeves?

 _Because it’d been hot,_ he reminded himself.

It’d been hot waking up and it was still hot now. Hotter than before.

He brought his hand to his nose once more.

When he pulled it away, he looked past the mess to the veins he could see vividly beneath the coarse skin of his fingers and palm.

The skin wasn’t supposed to be that blotchy, was it?

No, that was normal.

He had only just finished working out.

He wiped the blood on his shirt for a second time- and held the bottom of it rigid.

He squeezed. Unthinking.

He squeezed. Thinking.

Minho released it.

Kneeled forward.

Pressed his forehead to the filthy and cold ground. He clasped his hands before his head and gripped his knuckles tight. He shut his eyes and breathed.

_It’s fine._

His heart thundered.

_I’m fine._

He broke his hands and slammed his fist on the floor. _You’re fine._

He gasped in the air to breathe.

He couldn’t see.

Like before. Like now.

His eyes were open and he couldn’t see.

Ungracefully, he felt into his pant pocket for his phone.

He held it like a lifeline.

He threw it away.

He rolled onto his back and covered his face. _I’ll die._

“Please stop.”

“I’ll die.”

_Please stop._

Steadily. He wept.

Steadily. He waited.

Unsteadily, he heaved through his hands and bawled.

When he woke, his bones were cold. When he woke, his body quivered.

When he woke, he collected the pieces of himself that had broken apart and fallen.

And there was nothing in him. Nothing at all.

Quietly, he sat.

Wearily, he waited.

Waiting for the rest of him to return.

* * *

Outside the gym, thirty minutes later, Changbin raised his brow.

He got off the wall he’d been relaxing on. He lowered his cell. He studied Minho quizzically. Attentively. Unsure.

“What took you so long?”

Minho scratched the back of his head.

He smiled.

Bright.

“Sorry. I got the toilet clogged.” 

* * *

_|where do you want to meet_

* * *

Minho slept.

Changbin had insisted that he get his head checked again.

Minho hadn’t disagreed and they had met with Jaehyun quietly at the foot of the dorms to proceed.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

The prognosis was that he should be fine. Healing was occuring as normal.

There was no unusual swelling inside the brain, minimal swelling outside from the recently pulled stitches.

Bouts of vertigo.

Lack of appetite.

These were normal.

Minho was ‘normal’.

He napped at Changbin’s side on the journey home.

He settled against Jaehyun as their manager led him up the stairs.

In the living room, he disregarded Seungmin and Felix’s stares. He slipped inside his bunk.

Changbin tugged off Minho’s sneakers.

He tugged off his own.

He climbed into the space beside his friend.

He put his fingers in Minho’s hair.

He untangled a knot.

They slept.

Hours later, Minho was still sleeping.

Changbin, back turned, continued to lie at his side, the light on his phone dimmed.

He had left the door open so the sounds of their bandmates- the sounds of them living, breathing, moving- could be heard. The shuffle. The chatter. The dishes clanging in the sink. There were days when he hated to hear it. When it disturbed him, more than it brought him comfort, that there were others that he cared for close by.

That wasn't today.

He hadn’t been awake for long, but he didn’t think he missed much.

The most important person he needed to be with was a finger’s grasp away, resting on the same sheets.

The curtain at the foot of the bed was carefully peeled up.

Changbin exited from Twitter.

Hyunjin assessed them both. His hair was pulled high and tied. He wore a beater and shorts.

Changbin brought a knee closer to his chest and Hyunjin took the tiny space offered, sitting thoughtfully in the quiet.

“You think you’ll sleep here tonight?” Hyunjin proposed a near hour later.

Changbin set his phone on the mattress. “No. It’s too hot.”

“It won’t be if you put a bunch of ice packs between you two. Want me to get some from the freezer?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Why?”

“You think I’d survive to see the aftermath?”

Hyunjin scoffed without malice. “Since you’re not me, probably.”

Changbin snorted in return. He sat up, mindful of the low bunk above his head. “You two must’ve been natural-born enemies in another life.”

“Jae-hyung says we were siblings.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Changbin looked at Minho, curled, fast asleep. He tugged at Minho’s cheek. “Why is he so scary even like this?”

“He’s harmless,” Hyunjin dismissed.

Changbin glanced at him. “Is that why you’re at the foot of the bed?”

“No.”

Changbin grabbed his phone and began crawling off the bunk.

A hand caught his ankle.

Changbin froze.

He looked over his shoulder. Minho smiled at him, eyes barely open, possibly still asleep.

It was far more terrifying than it should have been.

Quickly, Changbin swung his head back towards Hyunjin. "Oi, ya, help-"

Hyunjin was gone- his shadow an echo out the door.

“Traitor,” Changbin hissed.

He spent several minutes trying to wrangle his foot free from Minho’s demonic-like clutch, and another round of minutes trying to rip his sock from the other boy’s tightly closed hand.

_“Hyung- just- freakin-”_

Changbin stomped from the room shortly, flustered, inwardly debating whether or not to throw away the sock he’d retrieved or try to patch the massive hole it now bore. 

" _Aiiish! This hyung!"_

Minho waited a while.

Then he properly sat.

Awake, he pulled his phone from underneath his pillow and checked his messages again.

A location had been pin-dropped on a sent map.

_|don’t run away_

* * *

That night, Minho departed from the dorms.

Without a word.

Unseen.

_|i’m not like you_

* * *

Stars swept the closing skies.

Walking.

Moving swiftly closer.

The waxing crescent moon mirrored in the darkness of his eyes.

He stepped off the sidewalk and onto the street, away from glowing signs and lamplight and mild foot traffic of the night.

On the other side was the sprawling grass, the wide benches and still river. Off the greenery, on the pathway.

His feet were loud against the asphalt.

He breathed in the frigid air and closed his eyes.

Steel, binding in his bones.

He reopened his eyes and carefully looked around. It didn’t take him long.

There.

Out along the river-path.

Waiting.

Alone.

Minho almost ran towards him.

After two hurried steps, he stopped himself.

He slowed.

Minho swallowed.

Again, he looked around. Again he walked.

His nails dug into his palms, deep inside his coat. _These are the reasons I’m still-_

The view from the deep boughs of the tree. The clouds in the vast blue sky. His open palms stretched towards them.

The memory remained.

They had known the same as they had known now. The important and the careful things they had chosen to hold onto, had never changed.

Yet.

_I’m here. And he’s there._

Months. Years.

What a selfish dream they shared.

The bird he saved had left them long ago.

Yet they pretended.

Yet they believed.

‘ _There is still something left to hold'._

If only.

Minho stopped several feet away.

If only the things that had fallen had stayed apples and winged feathers.

_There is no going back._

What other choice did they have?

Their decisions would come soon.

If this was the road towards acceptance- if this was the way they could understand one another and start again-

It hurt inside his chest.

Their regrets. Their answers. His life and the life of his friend.

Wasn’t that why the other had asked to meet?

Months and years.

Minho spoke his friend’s name.

Months and years and days.

The proof was there. Scars etched into the hands and arms of his friend, marred from a climb that had been too tall.

Slowly, one foot turned from the water. From the glowing, bustling city half on its other side.

Seojun’s eyes were unreadable.

He looked at Minho, unsmiling.

He offered out a hand.

Though they stood together, their shadows did not meet. 

Minho hesitated.

The face of his friend gave nothing away and his eyes fell to what was in the older boy’s hand.

An envelope.

Unmarked and white.

The wind whistled in Minho's ears. 

“Hana is getting better,” Seo said. Softly. With certainty. 

Minho reached for the envelope, gut twisting, mind whispering.

He grasped one end of it, staring as he felt its weight. 

He looked up. 

Seo looked down.

“You wanted to hear it,” he said.

“An answer,” Minho said, faltering. His words were caught. 

His friend spoke from his heart, sincerely.

“I wish I’d never known you.”


	7. }Cinereal

Windchimes blew in the surging wind as he raced up the front steps of the apartment complex and threw open the front door.

The neck of his guitar bag caught on the frame. With a jarring _thud_ and _bang_ , he flew back, yelping.

The well-dressed, sharp-faced woman behind the reception desk peered over the rim of her glasses at him and barely withheld a sigh. Those in the immaculate, white-marbled lobby sent looks of indifference or mild disdain. “Do try and be better,” the woman said, plainly, without emotion. “Such disruptions are of a rudeness your father would never approve.”

Seo picked himself up from the pristine floor, rubbing his backside apologetically. “Yes. I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

He bowed to her then to the others paying him no mind in the vast, tall foyer.

He was sprinting for the doors to the stairwell to his left immediately after.

He ignored the frustrated scold of the woman-

_“Im Seo-jun-!”_

The thirty-sixth floor.

It took twenty minutes.

He opened the door to the hall, gasping for air, and held the wall for balance. When he recovered, he adjusted the strap of his bag, and its uneven weight, and ventured to the room he hadn’t yet learned to call home.

The keycode was simple. He punched it in.

The lock unclicked.

Seo poked his head inside- and panicked only mildly. “What burned!”

“You’re home?” a voice called, out of sight, from the depths of the kitchen. Nayoung.

“Yeah!” He shut the door behind him and removed his shoes, taking care to set them on the small rack along the wall.

“Good! Come help your sister!”

Seo wasn’t too sure which one she meant.

In the living room, in the midst of the porcelain, polished floor, his baby sister sat on a plush, white carpet, surrounded by paper, crayons and vibrantly-colored, stuffed animals. She looked like she was drawing a green dinosaur on the open sketchpad before her.

Scarily proportionate and precise.

He went over, crouching in front her in his black socks and black slacks and blue-collared shirt. Her huge doe-eyes grew larger as they fell upon him.

“Seo!” she cheered.

She handed him her big, green crayon.

He accepted it benevolently. Pointed at the soft, lace bonnet on her perfectly brushed dark hair. “Who did this to you?”

She offered a gummy grin.

She gave him another crayon- this one purple.

“Seo!”

He made a face at her white-buckled shoes and her equally white, embroidered romper. “I would _never._ ”

His sister searched her box of coloring sticks. She handed him an orange one next.

Seo twisted his face further, thinking. He squinted, gesturing with all three crayons. “I bet auntie made you do this. Pose for another one of her dumb photos, huh?"

His baby sister giggled.

He returned her crayons.

He patted her on the head.

“I’ll go see what noona set on fire.”

“Bye-bye Seo.”

He smiled.

“Bye-bye.”

He unslung his guitar bag and rested it in the corner of their gold bullion, cream couch.

He rounded the corner, into the grandiose, ivory kitchen.

His eldest sister was setting bowls on the countertop, long hair styled neatly, a spotless, pale apron around her waist.

She was dressed far-less extravagantly in a simple turtleneck and pencil skirt.

“What took you so long?” she chastised calmly.

Seo eyed her suspiciously. He peered at the stove behind her and its big pots. “...You cooked.”

“I make the best soup.”

He walked past her.

He stood before the oven.

He pointed. “What’s in there?”

Nayoung sister moved from the counter and approached him quickly. She pushed the oven shut just as he began to open it.

He stared.

She smiled, pleasant. “You open it, you eat it.”

He stepped back with a grimace. “No thanks.”

Just then, his big sister blinked, eyebrows lowering. Her lips tilted down. "What happened?" She held his arm and peered closely at his face. “What is this? Did you get punched?”

Seo tried in vain to keep his swollen and bruised chin out of reach as she attempted to touch it. “No, I didn’t get punched.”

“It looks _terrible_ -”

Don’t mess with it- it’s _fine_ !”

“That doesn’t look fine to me!”

Nevertheless, she let go of him. Nayoung smoothed his collar down and swept his unkempt hair into place.

“Honestly. Dad would have your head,” she complained softly.

“If he was ever here,” Seo said softly back.

He turned but didn’t miss the conflicted flicker to his sister’s crumpling expression.

“Jun-ah…”

“I know. He’s doing his best.”

Seo went to their lowest cupboard above the sink.

He gazed up at it for a while before searching for their step-stool laid by the kitchen’s entrance.

He wasn’t yet tall enough.

“Will mom be home tonight?”

“...No. I don’t think she will.”

Of course.

Seo was quiet. He could feel his sister’s eyes on his shoulders. He kept his gaze to the floor.

Weight on his back.

Weight in his arms.

He used the step-stool to climb and pull two glasses down.

“That’s okay,” he said, after a long, long time.

He raised his head and tilted his lips high up as they would go without falling.

“Looking after Hana is fun.”

His sister waited until he set the glasses next to their bowls. Then she hugged him, mindful of his bruise.

“That’s right. Hana is a wonder. And you are too.” She leaned away and tweaked his nose. “You were _not_ as quiet as her as a kid. The amount of times you made me run.”

“You’re supposed to exercise anyway.”

Nayoung slapped him on the arm, playful. “Chasing you down the street in the middle of the night isn’t exercise, you little terror. I’m glad you’re finally eleven. Now you have to at least pretend to be responsible.”

Seo wiggled out of her hold. “No way. I won’t ever be responsible. Not until I’m an old adult like you.”

Nayoung set her hands on her waist. “An old adult huh? Guess this ‘old adult’ forgot where she hid your gift then.”

“Gift?”

“Today was your first day of lessons. Of course I’d congratulate you!”

“Ah…”

And Seo scratched his cheek, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at the expectant face of his older sister. “Those...they didn’t go so well.”

“Is that so?”

But instead of disappointment, there was something inexplicably fond in the sound of his sister’s voice. Nayoung's hands fell onto his shoulders.

“That’s more than alright. You’ve got so much time to get better! There’s no rush, silly. You know that, don’t you?”

Seo shifted, his gray socks a stark contrast to the floor. “...I’m not their prodigal son.”

"So?" Nayoung chuckled warmly, making him look up. “You’re their best son. Their only one. What's the need to be something as uselessly fancy as 'prodigal'. What's more important-” she straightened his collar again, "is that you’re my only little brother. That’s something no one else can be.”

She patted his cheek.

He swatted at her hands, truly embarrassed now.

“You’re so mushy. You're worse than auntie and her big hats.”

"She's as fond of them as she is of you and her bracelets." Nayoung's eyes fell on her little brother's left hand. "Speaking of..."

She noticed for the first time something that hadn't been there before. 

A teal-threaded bracelet was tied, loose around his wrist.

It was made so coarsely, thick and uneven. No one in their family would have bought such a gift.

In fact, their aunt had given him a different bracelet last week, expensive and extremely, extremely breakable.

She hesitated.

Did she want to know?

No.

She asked a different question instead, saving herself the future headache of what would no doubt be an endless scolding once the circumstance of the missing bracelet was brought to light before the material woman.

“You've got a new trinket. Please don’t tell me you’ve started picking things off the ground again?”

Her brother looked flustered- then sheepish- then nervous. His cheeks grew warm. He awkwardly tried to hide his hand.

“I didn’t. I got this from someone else.”

He hesitated too.

Confessed.

“After breaking aunt’s present.”

Nayoung stared, actively choosing to ignore her brother's last spoken words in bewildered fascination of something else.

_Someone else._

She repeated it aloud.

He made a face.

She continued to stare, stunned.

“ _No."_

He scowled. "What?" 

"What’s this? Could it be- after all these years my little brother finally made a _friend?_ ”

“It’s not- you’re so embarrassing! Go away!”

“Tell your big sister all about it! Who is it?”

Seo made a run for the living room. “I didn’t meet anyone! I tripped down the stairs! That’s it!”

“What kind of story is that?” she yelled after him. “I’m disappointed!”

“Good! Stop shouting! You’ll make Hana cry!”

“You-!”

He was gone.

Nayoung shook her head.

Her brother who struggled to talk to anyone beyond their little sister and her…

No, seriously, what kind of story was that? Had he really went and picked up some random bracelet after flying down a flight of stairs?

Truthfully- she couldn't put it past him. He was uncannily clumsy to a fault. 

But maybe not a fault entirely his own. 

Broken aunt's bracelet or not, so long as he was okay.

She turned her attention to their food that was absolutely cold.

She twisted the stove on.

She went in search of spoons.

Nayoung thought of the bracelet, new and old. She thought of the swelling bruise on Seo’s chin.

Small changes. Breaking, falling things.

She was no stranger to superstition.

No stranger to the loss of important, precious things.

Trouble.

Nayoung frowned.

In their family, it always came in threes.

* * *

In the cabin, Jeongin stood in the bathroom door.

Snow melted on the floor.

Hyunjin, snow boots ridden in mud and sludge and dirt, knelt down on the floor.

Souvenirs and sprinkled frappuccino tossed aside across the floor.

Seungmin dialed for an ambulance.

Minho lied in bloodied vomit, passed out on the floor. 

* * *

“This was a terrible idea.”

“Was it?”

“I think I busted my ass.” Eunjae said. He laid eagle-spread in the grass, eyes trained on the great, white clouds above.

The wind was biting. The grass was cold.

Minho flipped over him sideways, shadow swift and low. He wobbled as he landed, with half a wheeze.

Eunjae listened to the labored breaths. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at his friend. “You should take a break.”

“Should I?”

“Quit answering my suggestions with questions. I'll cry.”

Minho’s lips curled. It was either pity or amusement. Eunjae couldn't tell.

“Are you tired?” Minho asked.

“Try pathetically weak and unathletic. You?”

“No.”

Minho dabbed at his forehead with his shirt. Although that had been his answer, he sucked air in through his teeth.

Eunjae mulled on it.

Minho seemed too sweaty for twenty-degrees in celsius. His tee was white but Eunjae had something of a suspicion there were parts of it soaked through.

He didn’t comment on it aloud.

He wasn’t the best judge when it came to how tired someone should be after a bunch of cartwheels and aerial rounds.

It sure did require a lot of stamina and strength to keep going- that much was obvious.

Jinwoo still hadn’t risen from his failed attempt at a one-handed handstand that absolutely no one had asked him to do.

The three of them had been walking on the street above the hill and field an hour prior, each carrying two rectangular and thin cardboard boxes.

It was mostly foreign material inside, books that hadn’t been mass-produced and hadn’t sold at all on their first go on the shelves.

His grandpa believed there was something still valuable to them, and so had asked Eunjae and Jinwoo if they could bring them from the storage garage on the other side of the block to the lodge Eunjae’s uncle lived in. His uncle knew English and French and held work largely as a translator of documents and texts. Without a doubt, his grandpa was looking to translate the books to Korean.

Although the matter of republishing and redistributing was another field of its own, Eunjae was sure his family would figure it out. They were uncannily resourceful.

The distance wasn’t too far, less than a thirty-minute walk one way.

Minho, who had already been helping to sort new arrivals from cart to shelf since they had opened at seven a.m., had volunteered to tag along.

Eunjae agreed, Jinwoo hadn’t disagreed, and so the trio had set off in the fogging morningtide.

They had made small talk on the inane during the trip.

Then spent fifteen minutes untangling the massive keyring to the garage his grandpa had stowed in a bush.

Another twenty minutes were spent with two of them sitting on the cold, damp concrete, while the third rotated in and out, trying to figure out which key actually opened the garage door.

 _“Why are none of these labeled!”_ Eunjae had screamed in despair.

They had retrieved the boxes anticlimactically after and began the walk back.

In the time that had passed, sunlight fully hit first blush.

Because Jinwoo had asked, Minho began going into more detail on his new venture into dancing.

B-boying wasn’t the same as breakdance, they were different styles, one classified as funk, the other with its roots in hip-hop, which was the style Minho had sought to learn first. With a strong foundation and master of basics, popping and isolation, the challenge of b-boying wouldn’t be as alien of a concept to understand.

Currently, he was focusing on footwork- downrock variations- and what was most commonly recognized by the public as ‘powermoves’.

Powermoves, the most acrobatic, needed a great deal of conditioning and strength training of the upper torso and core to execute.

Minho had gone into even further depth on the types of training and the difficulty of balancing on his hands long enough to stand- forget _spinning_ -

Frankly Eunjae had zoned out at all the terms and new information flying in his ears.

Jinwoo, model-citizen that he was, did his best to follow.

It sure did explain why Minho looked so broad in the chest and toned in the shoulders nowadays. It was depressingly impressive, a feat not many made Eunjae feel. 

Jinwoo had gotten confused on the difference of powermoves and acrobatics within powermoves, and Minho had glanced off to their left, to the hill and field below the road they were on.

 _“I’ll show you._ ”

And he had gone, climbing over the railguard and making his way down.

Eunjae had shrugged and followed, mindful of the boxes he held.

Jinwoo, at a loss, but not wanting to get left behind, had joined them mere seconds later.

As easy as that, they had gotten distracted.

The field was open, at the crest of a shallow and wide incline, streetside with nothing but the road of the city at their backs and slim trees of the winding park ahead.

There were several stone pavilions and wooden bridges among the groomed shrubbery and narrow, walkable paths.

In the early morning, parents pushed strollers, men and women jogged, friends off work sat on thin blankets, on their phones, with bags of snacks.

Despite how deep the sky swam blue and how verdant the grass rose around them, the weather remained tepid feeling at best, the sun’s pallor bleak.

It matched Minho’s disposition accurately well.

Eunjae sat upright and shook out his arms. Minho plunked down at his side.

Something was bugging him. That was easy to tell.

There was a difference between Minho absently frowning and Minho truthfully frowning, and this was an evocatory frown somewhere in between.

Eunjae wasn’t in the habit of prying.

His closest friends thanked and hated him for it.

His siblings were eternally grateful.

Sticking his nose in what didn’t concern himself, meddling without cause, it left a pointless, bad taste in his mouth he didn’t care to walk around with. He’d inevitably somehow get dragged back into the problem and get accused.

Eunjae had ridden that bull at the rodeo more times than he could count.

He wasn’t fond of the painful landings.

Besides, he and Minho were acquaintances. Admittedly, super-friendly ones, but _acquaintances_ all the same.

It’d be weird to get involved.

_I say that and..._

Eunjae scratched his nose. “Oi, Lee Minho-ssi.”

His same-aged friend grunted.

“You got a fever?”

Minho turned his head to look at him and- _boy were his eyes sharp_.

Eunjae whistled. He collapsed on his back, tucking his arms beneath his head with a loud laugh. Yup.

He already had regrets.

“Imma take that as a ‘no’.”

Minho flopped onto his back as well, in the same position as they looked at not one another, but the lazy sky stretched over their heads.

He was silent for a moment.

Then-

“It’s not a fever.”

Eunjae hummed, easy-breezy. “You’re sweatin’ buckets.”

“It’s hot.”

It was, in fact, not.

Eunjae didn’t say it aloud.

He chortled instead.

“And the bags under your eyeballs? Aren’t idols supposed to care about image?”

“When did I ever care about that?”

True enough. To an extent.

Minho cared for the benefit of the group’s well-being.

But for himself?

Appealing to others as anyone beside himself wasn’t in Minho’s interest.

Self-satisfaction and enjoyment, comfortability.

_That?_

Yes.

However _this?_

Eunjae wasn’t a fool.

He worked out. He ran. He knew the benefits of staying ‘in-shape’- although his diet barely reflected that-

_'Pushing past your limits until you were worn-down-to-the-bone'._

In his first two years of university, Eunjae had come to know the feeling well. Knew the look.

“You should sleep.”

“I sleep.”

“Sleep more.”

“Talk less.”

Eunjae clutched his chest. “I’m wounded!”

Minho chuckled, tiny as it was. “You’re fine.”

Eunjae rolled his head in the cold grass, smelling earth and dirt.

Minho’s gaze stayed on the clouds, smile small. “It’s good weather today.”

Minho’s eyes reflected the darkest depths of blue.

Eunjae looked at them.

Eunjae looked away. “It's the best we’ve had in a while!” he said, enthusiastic. “Doesn’t that usually mean good things are comin’?”

“Yeah.” Minho’s voice was elegiacally warm. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Mmhm.”

Eunjae itched his stomach.

“Y’know. I’ve got three little siblings, Lino. They’re all a buncha brats. I locked my sister out of the house yesterday and watched her from the window as she banged on the door and yelled for me to let them in. She called me a bunch of names so I opened the window and threw a cup of water on her head.”

Minho broke into a laugh and it was genuine. “ _What?_ Why?”

“She ate the chicken I’d been hiding for lunch.”

Minho sputtered on another laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Don't you think that's going too far?”

“I don’t wanna hear that from a tissue-lover like you.”

Minho slapped him on the arm. Eunjae slapped him back. He grinned, easily, at the brighter light in Minho’s eyes.

“My kid siblings always try to sneak behind my back. But they’re too obvious! I’m the oldest. Don’t you know the rule about any older sibling?”

“What rule is that?”

“We know everything. And I mean it. Somehow _everything_.”

Minho’s expression faltered- the tiniest bit. His crooked smile threatened to fall off.

Eunjae noted it wisely.

He nodded.

He threw himself up and stretched his torso out.

“A lot of people think it’s the elder’s job to try and fix things, but that isn’t really true. We’re stubborn. We might even go outta our way to make stuff more difficult just cuz we can. It’s always the youngest few who wind up fumbling to make amends.”

He laughed to himself.

“That should probably change. She ate the chicken cuz I ate her plate for dinner the night before. So technically the fault was mine. I just didn’t wanna admit it. We both got in trouble after. Honestly none of that would've’ happened if I had confessed that night I got extra hungry and didn’t feel like cooking.”

He felt Minho’s gaze on him.

He glanced over.

Minho was listening intently.

Oh good. Some of what he said must’ve been making sense after all.

Eunjae put on a grin, feeling a little awkward. “There was a moral or something in that story. Someone’s probably told you this already. You don’t have to talk, not if you don’t want to. Especially not to me. I’m definitely not the kinda guy a person should go to for stuff like that anyway. I don’t take most things seriously. I’m told it’s a disease.”

Eunjae sprung onto his feet. He turned and offered both his hands towards his friend on the ground.

“Just. Y’know. Eat. Close your eyes and stuff. Put your head on a pillow. I’m sure whatever it is that’s on your mind will still be there tomorrow and still be there the day after. It’s probably okay to take a break and forget about the little and big things for a while. Nothing’s worth your suffering like this. Otherwise you’ll just take it out on others- and what good will that do? There’s only so much a human can do. Isn’t that right?”

Minho looked at Eunjae startled, open-mouthed, gobsmacked in surprise.

Eunjae lifted his brows, holding his laughter behind a grin.

Was what he said so bizarre?

He didn’t think it was, but he couldn’t pretend to know what was going on in that head of his idol friend, bruised and injured as it was.

When Minho didn’t grab his hands, Eunjae leaned forward and clapped his palms securely on either side of the other boy’s face. “What? Too serious for you?” he teased. “Let me know. I can always crack some existential jokes on life instead and make us all depressed.”

Minho continued to stare, baffled. Eyes full of frightened wonder. “Eunjae,” he said.

Eunjae blinked. Beneath his hands, Minho’s cheeks burned, scarlet as his ears. There was a question on the edge of his tongue and Eunjae began to hear it.

_How-_

Minho changed it last minute.

His features creased, spilling into a smile, helplessly distressed.

“No, it’s nothing. I’m sorry.”

Eunjae panicked. “Why do you look so upset?” he exclaimed. “Holy shit, did I say something wrong?”

Minho burst into laughter. He raised his arms and removed Eunjae’s hands from his face. “You made me feel bad.”

Eunjae, respectively, continued to stress. He hovered over his friend, concerned. “Dude, I’m so freaking sorry! Why didn’t you tell me to ‘shut up’ or kick me in the shin?”

“Why would I do that?” Minho asked as if he hadn’t just been on the verge of very possibly emotionally traumatic tears. “I’m grateful,” he told Eunjae, “not upset.”

Eunjae’s inner turmoil did not settle at the words. He brushed off as much grass as he could from the other boy. “We use two different dictionaries, friend. Please don’t almost cry in my arms. I’m a total empath. I’ll cry until dawn.”

“What if I want you to cry?”

“Then you’re evil, and I almost have to respect you for it.”

“What respect. You left me for dead.”

Minho and Eunjae turned their heads.

Jinwoo, sitting, legs stretched out in the grass, looked at them with an incredible amount of empty disbelief. “Did you forget I was here?”

“Sort of,” Eunjae shrugged, facing his other friend. “I figured you were busy.”

“With _what?_ ”

“I dunno. Whatever it was you were doing.”

“Sometimes... I really wonder who you are.”

“Isn’t that my line? What kind of weakling tries a frontflip with no life experience and expects it to work out?”

“It was a handstand.”

“That’s even sadder. That’s the most basic move.”

“Didn’t you fall on your face?”

“This isn’t about me, high-rise.” 

As they argued, Minho climbed cautiously to his feet. Out the corner of his eyes, Eunjae caught the way he swayed. Jinwoo did too. He stood up. They broke their bickering to steady him with their hands. 

Minho thanked them, feebly waving off their concern with half a laugh.

Eunjae’s phone rang. He answered, brightly, even as he continued to eyeball his friend directly in front him.

“Gramps! What’s up?”

Minho asked Jinwoo to turn around. Jinwoo did. Minho grabbed his arms.

“Ah no. We’re okay,” Eunjae said, watching in sudden, rapt fascination. “Dad said that? Ha! He’s not wrong.”

Minho bent Jinwoo over with a foot.

“Oh? Sure, sure! I’ll ask and see. I’m sure they wouldn’t…”

Minho knelt on Jinwoo’s back, the taller boy’s arms pulled up in his hands.

 _“Does this hurt?”_ he was sincerely wondering aloud, concerned.

_“Why did you dislocate my shoulders?”_

Eunjae stared. “Yeah, no problem gramps! We’ll be back soon, all in one piece! Probably.”

He hung up.

He joined Minho in trying to figure out how to create an ostrich out of two people for a good thirty minutes before Jinwoo collapsed to the earth, boneless, and he remembered what his grandpa had said.

“Ah! We have to get back to the shop. It’s almost noon.”

“Ahh,” Minho stopped poking Jinwoo and apologetically met Eunjae’s gaze. “Sorry. We got delayed.”

“No big deal!” Eunjae assured him. “We got fresh air and exercise. We got friendship and bonding! Who’s gonna complain about that?”

“I would like to complain,” Jinwoo said muffled into the grass.

“Overridden,” Eunjae told him brightly.

He went to Minho and put out his fist.

They exchanged the same handshake they usually did. It was softer, but no less full of energy, despite the fact that Minho was looking quite depleted.

Eunjae considered his companion. Considered what had occurred.

“You should go home,” he said. “The boxes aren’t heavy. It’s an easy walk.”

Minho opened his mouth to argue.

Eunjae smothered it with a hand. “Nope!”

Minho licked it without so much as a blink.

_"That's freaking gross Minho!"_

As Eunjae lamented his desecrated palm in a fit of dramatics that involved collapsing to his knees and sobbing, Minho smiled at his friend. “Thanks. I’ll make it up to you for leaving you guys here like this.”

Eunjae stopped his fake crying. He got up cheerfully. “There’s nothing to make up. Quit acting like you owe me. Oh! But-”

He made a round among the boxes they had carried into the field.

He took some time to read the labels scribbled along their edges in black sharpie, then hefted up the smallest one and deposited into Minho’s hands.

“Some light reading,” he told the idol. “These are in Korean. They could be of interest.”

The box weighed only a few pounds and tucked comfortably under an arm.

It wasn’t unwanted, Minho just wasn’t sure why…

“Didn’t your uncle need this?”

“Down the line, sure,” Eunjae dismissed. He set his hands on his hips, winking. “I’ll be sure to tell ‘im where it went. Now get on home! Before we forget what we’re supposed to be doing again,” he laughed.

“I’ll be quick,” Minho said, motioning slightly with the box.

Hesitant.

Appreciative. 

Eunjae wasn’t quite sure whether to strangle his same-aged friend or bust out into loud peals of mirth. He snorted loudly. “Ya Lee Minho. What’s with you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You. You’re driving me mad.”

Eunjae whacked Minho on the chest.

“Ow!” Minho exclaimed.

Eunjae looked at him. “You felt that?”

“How would I have not?”

“Good. That was a bit of reality from me to you as a third-party, simpleton friend from the bottom of the social ladder.”

Minho rubbed where he'd been hit, pursing his lips in bewilderment. “...What.”

Eunjae shook his head. “I don’t want to see those books for a while, got it? When you’re ready. When you’re _done._ When you’ve gotten just a bit happier than before, _then_ I’ll take them off your hands.”

He grinned, affectionately.

It was the biggest Minho had seen yet. He looked at Eunjae, stupefied.

Eunjae tapped the box between them, chuckling.

“The things you’ve been given, when you’re feeling better Minho-ssi, you can return them without a single worry at all.”

* * *

Minho took the bus back to the dorms.

The seat rattled, quiet as the rumble of the engine, as the streets that passed them by.

He entered through the rear of their building, away from the prying eyes of any lurking fans.

When he walked the flight of stairs to his floor, his steps echoed loud.

He remembered slipping.

He stepped closer to the banister and used it the rest of the way up.

There was no one in the hall.

There was no one in the dorm.

He exercised caution, regardless, and shifted the box he held more securely under one arm.

He looked into the kitchen. He looked into the living room. He looked behind their shielding their small outclove of trash.

Feeling oddly lost, Minho poked his head into his bedroom.

Seeing no one still, he put his ear to his bandmates’ doors.

Nothing.

He drew back.

Again, more carefully, he glanced around.

As if one of his teammates would emerge from the shadows of the unlit corners and hushed halls.

He pulled his phone from his pocket.

No notifications.

Nothing in their group chat since the night before.

Nothing except Chan’s lone message.

Minho gazed at the floorboards, throat thick.

Right.

What was he expecting.

Even though Eunjae’s words had meant something so important-

It wasn’t the night before he had met with his childhood friend. It wasn’t the night that came before that either.

It was the night he hadn’t come home.

The memory tried to resurface. Minho gripped his box tighter. The memory prevailed.

As did the ones of the days that came after.

Minho squashed them back down.

All of them.

Instinctively, unthinking, he called out for his friends.

For the people who had become his closest brothers where before he had been born into a family that had none.

There was no answer. 

* * *

Felix stormed from the McDonalds.

Changbin picked up an unwrapped burger.

He set it back down.

He looked at Chan across from him, tentatively, and grabbed a large carton of fries.

"Hyung. That was..." 

Changbin didn't say anything else after that. It seemed like he couldn't. 

He followed after Felix.

Jeongin was still in the bathroom, Hyunjin was still with him, and Seungmin-

Seungmin was picking up their trash.

Chan wiped the M&M McFrosty off the front of his shirt.

He sighed.

“Well. That went worse than I thought.”

He thought about calling Jisung.

He thought about running after Felix and Changbin, although he hadn't the vaguest idea of what to say.

Whatever the case, they were both bad ideas.

Like the rest of the day had been.

Chan ignored the gossiping and blatant stares of the customer’s around them.

As Seungmin apologized and spoke with several employees coming over, Chan turned his attention to the only manager that had been with him.

“This was humiliating,” he said.

“I agree,” Jaehyun told him. He dipped a floppy french fry in his open McFrosty, looking at Chan without judgement- which was somehow even worse. “Maybe you should’ve done it at the dorm.”

“They were suffocating in there,” Chan said morosely.

It was useless trying to clean his shirt.

The ice cream, sticky and disgusting, felt like a punishment in itself.

“I thought this would be better.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“ _Yeah_ , I _know_.”

Chan squinted at his manager.

“Whose side are you on?”

“I don’t take sides in things I don’t fully understand.”

The unspoken jab was heard loud and clear.

Chan attempted not to let his frustration bleed into his next words. “So the next time everyone starts yelling and throwing things, I should sit it out. Understood.”

Jaehyun raised a brow, not remotely put off by the foul tone. “Maybe you should’ve grabbed Minho instead.”

Chan exhaled. _Enormously loud_. His thin patience was slipping fast away. “This is all because of Minho anyway.”

“That I won’t disagree. But maybe don't say it like that the next time you see him.”

Jaehyun clapped the salt off his hands and wiped them on his pants. He reached into the fold of his jacket and pulled out an official-looking envelope. He yielded it to the young leader on the other side of the table.

“It’s what you asked for. I read it through already.”

He regarded Chan, an indecipherable expression on his face.

“This time, think carefully before you do anything rash. Especially with this. Most importantly, with this.”

Chan looked at his hyung.

He looked at the envelope.

Dread deep in the belly of his gut, he reached for it and grabbed it. 

* * *

_“Why is he like this?”_ Hyunjin turned on Jeongin, mortified. “Jeongin what did this? _Why is he like this?”_

Jeongin looked at their hyung on the floor.

The horror in his eyes meant nothing, was nothing, next to the empty, hollow accusation in his voice when he spoke.

“It wasn’t me. He did this to himself.”

He dragged his eyes from Minho and met Hyunjin’s bewildered gaze.

“Hyung, it’s his fault.”

* * *

Jisung returned to his bedroom, glaring at the floor.

He tossed off his bag with a mutter.

Well that had been a pointlessly annoying lunch.

All he ended up doing was bark at Chan, accuse Jeongin, flip some soda on Changbin's face, and accidentally up-end half a tray of burgers on the floor.

Whatever.

Who cared?

Jisung seethed.

It was their fault.

What did Changbin mean- ‘ _blowing things out of proportion_ ’? 

As if Changbin wasn’t the one skulking around keeping quiet, acting just as suspicious as Chan.

Jisung tore off his mask and shut the door.

He locked it.

Unsatisfied, he unlocked and relocked it again- _harder._

He scowled at the door.

He turned around- and paused.

In his bed, on his side, one knee drawn, Minho slept, an arm tucked beneath his head.

A book was in hand, close to his face, airpods in his ears. His expression was disarmingly peaceful.

Jisung couldn’t help but stare.

He didn’t think Minho would be in the dorm.

No one did.

Not after yesterday.

Not after the fight that had shaken the walls.

He stepped towards his hyung, heedful of waking the other boy- but at the same time wanting to.

He wanted to hit Minho hard. 

His older friend didn’t stir. In the slightest. Even as Jisung’s step creaked the wooden floor and he approached.

“Hyung.”

Minho was unmoving.

Jisung’s expression folded. His brows furrowed. His mouth twisted upset.

He crouched at the side of the bed.

Minho’s scar was still so white and clear. Stress had broken bumps along his skin.

The bruise on his left cheek was near invisible.

Regardless of how quickly it had healed, Jisung knew Minho would remember how he had gotten it for a long, long time.

And who had done it.

Jisung held his torn knuckles and bowed his forehead on the bars of the bed frame. _How can I help you?_ He implored, silent and desperate.

How could he do anything if he didn’t _know_?

Weren’t they partners?

Stupidly coined ‘destined soulmates’?

Or had those words been lies just like everything else that had happened? They probably were. 

Easy to say. Easier to mean without meaning it at all.

Like what Minho had said to Felix.

Like what Minho had yelled at Chan.

Fables and myths.

Jisung raised his head. He had caught a glimpse of the book cover Minho had been reading.

Mournfully, he swept his friend's bangs away from his eyelashes with a lone finger. “You’re most infuriating like this,” he told the older boy. “What do you expect us to do? Nothing?”

Jisung stood.

“Jokes on you, I can’t stand you. I dislike you. You’re a fool. You come to me after the rest of the guys reject you and think I'll welcome you with some sort of love.”

He went to their closet and rummaged through a bin shoved in the far back in the corner.

He emerged soon after with a spare duvet and pillow.

He returned to the bed.

Minho gazed at him, unblinking.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” Jisung questioned.

Minho shifted, wordlessly making room.

Jisung dropped the extra pillow beside Minho’s head before taking great care to situate the new duvet securely in both bottom corners of his bunk’s mattress. "I smell like french fries and shame. You'll have to deal with it."

He pulled the heavy sheet over Minho.

He climbed into his bed and sat beside his hidden hyung.

Minho’s hand peeked beneath the blanket shortly after. It pushed the book he’d been reading into Jisung’s lap.

Jisung scoffed. There was no heat to it.

“You want a bedtime story? It’s the middle of the day.” 

Minho’s hand remained on Jisung’s leg.

He was quiet.

His silence said everything.

Jisung sighed. “I’m mad at you, you know.”

He opened the book at the beginning, knowing full well Minho would’ve gone to the middle of a new story first.

Jisung’s eyes fell to the title of the first tale.

_Icarus and the Sun._

Maybe there was a reason Minho had flipped past it this time.

Jisung skipped to the next chapter quietly.

After a moment of skimming the words in his head, he set one of his own hands on top of Minho’s.

And squeezed.

"Tell me next time, then." 

* * *

Two days before, Minho sat in the cafe on the snowed mountaintop and sighed. Jeongin had gone to get drinks. Hyunjin had gone to bring food. Seungmin was caught in a conversation with the green bear mascot near the front door.

Waiting, Minho propped his elbow on the table and leaned against the wood panels of the wall.

Thinking, he brought his gaze to the view outside the window.

Family and coupled friends. Youth, carefree- bumbling on the hilltop, teasing, pushing, joking loud. One stumbled and slipped. One tripped over a mound.

Remembering, Minho rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

In the light of the sun, the teal-threaded bracelet on his wrist hung loose and worn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't stopped laughing at the way Minho both threw a rock at Hyunjin and tried to stab him with the pointy end of his flagpole for simply existing.


	8. |Aquamarine

* * *

**_Three Days Prior:_**

** _Half-Light_ **

* * *

_"You'd do anything."_

_"So I'm telling you."_

_"Don't ever come back."_

* * *

Minho thunked his head back against the wall softly.

The song in his airpods reverberated in his ears. Park Hyo Shin's _'Goodbye'._

A sorrowful, beautiful piece. 

He raucously sang along.

“Can you stop?” Hyunjin called politely from the other bed.

“Can you let me be like this?” Minho called back, equally as polite.

“You’re too loud!”

 _“You’re_ too loud!”

Hyunjin threw aside his magazine. “Get out the room!”

“I live here, you can’t tell me what to do.”

And Minho disconnected his bluetooths, blasting the song aloud.

He hit the high-note with the singer. Off-key. With ten times the volume.

Hyunjin rolled out the bed.

He made it a foot and a half away from his screeching bandmate before Minho started whacking him with a pillow.

Changbin, hanging t-shirts on some hangers, turned around and looked.

Chan poked his head through the door. “Not that I don’t love you guys, because I do, but what is going on?”

“Laundry,” Changbin answered.

Chan made a face. A painfully confused one as he grimaced through a smile. “This isn’t even your room.”

“It’s a favor,” Changbin said.

Chan raised his brows. He wasn’t about to ask. His younger friend had been sidestepping him at nearly every occasion.

If he was trying to be less obvious, he was failing spectacularly.

Things would be a lot easier if he had just answered Chan’s questions. Now they were dancing around one another to a tune they both knew and had set on repeat until one of them caved in and skipped to the next.

Except Changbin was loyal. He wouldn’t hand over the trust of someone he’d put faith in.

_And look at us now._

Chan brought his eyes away from Changbin, not acknowledging how the rigidity in his friend’s shoulders slipped as he did. Minho was crouched like a gargoyle over Hyunjin’s head, twisting his hair.

They were getting along as always.

The affectionate exasperation Chan felt was unreal.

“Lee Know.”

Minho stopped snickering.

Chan waved two tickets in his hand. “Wanna come with?” 

* * *

Pale.

Sweat peaked from beneath his darkened curling bangs.

Minho studied himself in the mirror, lips twisting, twisting down. The sink ran quietly. He cupped his hands beneath.

Ticking.

The minutes ticked by.

He stared at the water, rippling, translucent, clean. 

The noise was deafening in his ears.

Thunder in the storm of silence. 

Minho faltered.

He threw the water on his face.

His scar ached.

He pushed his hair back and ran a finger guardedly along the white and red irritation.

Purple mottled near his brow.

_“It’s unsightly.”_

Minho opened the mirror and grabbed the small roll of gauze and white tape. He covered his wound carefully.

A simple, clean cut of bandage directly over the scar and no more.

He fixed his hair over the prim dressing when he was done.

There.

He poked at the sunken lines beneath his eyes.

Better than swollen- though it would’ve been better not to have any change to his face at all.

At least it wasn’t obvious.

He turned his left wrist, prodding at the obscure bruising that lingered behind. Long sleeve or not, it wasn’t noticeable enough.

He had picked something up too heavy. He’d hit the corner of a wall or table.

It wasn’t so hard to give a reason if the miniscule discoloration wound up being seen.

It had hurt and then it didn’t.

When Seojun had struck down and seized his hand. The hand Minho had been dauntlessly reaching out. It’d been so easily thrown aside.

All these years.

_Was I mistaken?_

The question echoed vociferously in his head.

No…

Minho hadn’t misread. He’d been doing the right thing. He still was.

He held both sides of the sink, the crown of his head sinking in the mirror view.

_I wasn’t wrong._

More important was the condition, deteriorating fast. He needed to step back. He needed to sort the disorganization. The information.

His paths.

The clutching thorns on the road of his own construction were dragging him, holding him down. They’d keep him if they could.

Seojun would walk. He would refuse to look back. But the tighter the shackles that bound Seojun’s legs to fate would pull, the faster Minho was hauled across the chafing dirt and stone. Because the chain to those shackles were held unyielding in his hands.

Minho had grasped them as a child. He’d tugged as a teen. He’d dug his heels in and yelled at the effort from adolescent to adult. From friend to-

His palms were weeping, wearing thin. Swollen. Sore.

How much longer.

 _Seo,_ he thought, frustrated.

He stepped away from the sink, abrupt, heat burning beneath his skin.

_Why won’t you let me help you?_

Minho swiped his fingers under his nose. Blood again.

His brow knit, resentful.

“Yo, Lino!” Chan’s knuckles rapped on the outside door.

Minho stopped glaring at his hand. He thrust it in the sink and washed it thoroughly with soap. He raised his voice.

“What?”

“You’re taking forever!” his leader called, muffled. “Let’s go!”

“You’re so pushy!”

Minho checked his face a second time. He fiddled with his hair over his injury once more, then opened the door.

Immediately, Chan placed a black cap low on Minho’s head and tucked a blue scarf around his neck. He grabbed the ends of the scarf and pulled Minho into the hall, swiftly towards the entrance of their dorm.

“C’mon. We don’t wanna miss it.”

“What are we seeing?”

“That’s for you to choose.”

“Wait. _Wait_ -!” Minho attempted to peel away and to his room.

Chan hauled him back. “There is no _time_ -!”

Minho clutched at his bedroom door frame and physically tried to yank himself inside. “I need my jacket!”

“I already have it on the couch!”

Hearing that, Minho let himself stumble and bumble after his friend to their living room in confusion.

“Why are you so prepared?”

“You were on the toilet for ages. What else was I gonna do?”

“I wasn’t on the toilet.”

“You were just standing in there?”

“Yeah.”

It was clear Chan brushed aside his words as his leader snatched Minho’s green and white windbreaker off the arm of their couch and began putting it on Minho.

“What are you doing?” Minho said.

Chan circled Minho, fitting both arms into his sleeves and standing in front of him afterwards. “Stuffy?”

Minho’s face twisted. “No?”

Chan zipped him up tight. He tucked the scarf around Minho’s neck into the inside of his jacket before bodily maneuvering him towards the front entrance.

“What’s gotten into you, hyung?”

Chan sat to stuff his feet into shoes. He snatched his friend’s sneakers and dragged Minho down onto his level a second later to shove them on for him. He tapped the top of Minho’s sneaker when he finished and pulled them both to standing. "There's a beautiful sun today."

Minho looked at him bewildered, feeling like he’d been caught in a whirlwind for the better part of the last three minutes.

Chan’s gusto wasn’t unusual. The erraticism underneath it was.

Minho had accepted the invitation out for one reason alone.

A distraction. Open air.

A visceral means of input that would drown the influx of recalled images in his brain, speaking, shaping, molding around a singular friend.

_Seo, Hana, time._

Seo had given him a proposition. But how did he expect Minho to properly go about his day after hearing what it was?

Even now it ground his teeth.

Maybe this was what Seo had been aiming for.

The indecision.

The distress.

Sitting around was useless. Music only pushed aside a weight of this magnitude so much.

Minho had wanted-

Realization struck.

He looked at Chan startled. "Hyung."

His leader smiled, disarmingly. His leader opened the door.

Minho’s mouth went dry.

This wasn’t because they were going to be late to a movie. This wasn’t because Chan was undyingly bored and so sought his company.

This was-

“And we’re off!”

Chan stepped outside the dorm and brought Minho with him.

“Hyung, hold on,” he feebly said.

Over his shoulder, the door of their second bathroom opened. A set of footsteps hit the floor, followed by a beseeching, baffled voice.

“Hyung.”

Jisung headed towards them, in jeans and a tee. He glanced between Chan and Minho, for some reason, looking extremely caught off guard. His eyes lingered on Minho. Fixed themselves on Chan. 

"Hyung, actually I wanted to grab this guy for a sec-"

A rescue was a rescue. Minho recognized one when he heard it. Or maybe Jisung had already been planning to head out. His wallet was in his hand. 

Going outdoors or staying in, right now Minho would take Jisung's company over their leader's no matter what they did.

"Good idea," he told Jisung. He started to re-enter the dorm.

"Nope!" 

And that was English. Cheerful and loud. 

Chan held an arm before Minho's chest, stopping him in his tracks. The expression on his face was far too enthused for anyone actually experiencing real joy. "He’s coming with me, Han. Sorry.”

Jisung furrowed his brow. His own English escaped. "Now wait a minute-"

Chan's smile grew, insincerely sincere. "Can't do that. Gotta get things done." His English switched to Korean as he addressed Minho next. "He'll be here when you return." He clapped a hand on his, frankly, petrified friend's shoulder. "You can spend some time with your biggest brother, yes?" 

"I changed my mind," Minho told him, rooted to the ground. 

"Neat," Chan said. "I didn't." 

He shut their dorm door closed before anyone else could speak another word. 

Minho gazed at their apartment, speechless. He wondered if Jisung was on the other side, doing the same. 

They stood in the hallway for a moment. 

Silent.

Then Minho spun, sprinting for the stairs. "I'm not going with you!" he hollered. 

Chan threw his eyes to the ceiling and unleashed a mighty, aggrieved exhale of pure vexation. "He's going to make me work for it. Are you kidding me? Is this a joke?" His English-spoken rant was short-lived. He bolted after Minho, yelling. "Hey!"

His bandmate was already on the third floor. His voice resounded, clamorous, bouncing off the walls. 

"Go with someone else!"

Chan thundered down the steps, three- then five at a time. 

Minho, perhaps sensing true depth of the peril he faced against his swift and buff leader, started screaming bloody murder.

They were going to get in such trouble from their neighbors later on.

Chan swore.

"Quit _running away_ \- ah, _seriously,_ Lee Minho, _I'm gonna_ -!" 

* * *

There was a miniscule commotion happening outside the bedroom.

Hyunjin didn’t particularly know what it was. He was interested in the muted ruckus happening down the hall, but not _that_ interested. Besides, whatever it was, he was sure it wasn’t nearly as questionable as Changbin taking a lint roller to Jeongin’s rack of pants.

An unnecessary amount of precision and good form was being put into the effort.

From his twisted, unorthodox position on the floor, Hyunjin spoke. “Why are you acting strange?”

“I’m not,” Changbin replied.

“Did you lose a bet?”

“No.”

“Then why are you acting strange?”

“I’m not.”

Idle quiet swept the room. Changbin dusted some stray fuzz off the hem of a jean ankle. Hyunjin cracked several knuckles.

He shook his fingers out.

He snorted. 

“Ya."

"What."

"You’re being really strange.”

"I said I’m not.”

Hyunjin cracked his ankles next. “What’s with you and hyungie?” he questioned. "You've been very hush."

Changbin, miraculously, continued to clean with an air of indifference. "What does 'hush' mean in this context? You're getting weird ideas again."

The bottom of his jean snagged on the corner of Jeongin's bedpost. He attempted to free himself without his hands even as he offered Hyunjin a suggestion.

“Mind your own business?" 

Hyunjin watched Changbin's pant dilemma, umoved. “I don’t want to?”

“You should?”

"Do you know what it means to have intelligence? Being aware. Knowing."

"That's not the definition." Changbin bent, shouting as he ripped the leg of his pants from the jagged metal it caught on. He didn't curse. He contemplated, once more, what exactly he was doing in this specific time and place.

First his sock. Now his pants.

If anything else he wore started falling apart, he was going to give up on trying to exist for the rest of the day and go lie down on his own bed- regardless if Chan was there or not.

He looked at the new tear in his jeans and mourned. 

It was huge.

"I watched that vlive," he said, pointedly, to deter Hyunjin's growing smug face. "Intelligent, my ass. You failed those 'pabo' tests." 

"They were psychology tests," Hyunjin corrected. "And I passed them all. You must've been watching something else." 

"I wasn't?" 

"This isn't about me, hyung," Hyunjin said jovially. "Or your ruined pants. It's about what you're hiding." 

This time, Changbin did sigh. Loudly. "This again?" He eyed his friend, perplexed.

Hyunjin returned the gaze, unblinking. His lackadaisical body language was a direct counter of the shrewd look in his eyes. "I've never asked you before. I just think you're hiding something with hyung."

Changbin faced him. "We're not hiding anything." 

"What are you being secretive about?"

“Nothing. Why are you making such a fuss about it?” 

“I want to know why you're avoiding him.”

“We were just together. How am I avoiding him? We haven’t fought.”

“So you say. Don't you know by now that nothing in this place stays quiet?"

“Nothing, like what?”

"Everything?" Hyunjin rolled onto his back. He stretched his arms above his head, pulling them taut. “You said I was making a fuss, but aren't you making a bigger one by not coming out and saying it? Most of us already know. It's better to hear it from you guys straight though, right? So there are no misunderstandings.”

Changbin, to his credit, did not fumble the lint roller out of his grip. He grasped it harder, near imperceptibly so and looked at Hyunjin significantly more focused than before. Hyunjin wouldn’t have noticed had he not been looking.

But he was looking. He was looking at it all.

The myriad of suspicion and confusion- the quirking of his brows, the downward twist of his mouth as an understanding of the situation formed. 

"How?"

His voice had gone low.

"How do you know?" 

Hyunjin regarded his friend, a bit too disbelievingly. "Are you serious? It's been obvious. What?" 

Changbin bit his lip. He glanced around the room. Sucking in a breath, he tossed the lint roller on Jeongin's messy bed. Then he joined it, sitting on the mattress edge, feet planted firmly on the floor. 

“Run that by me again. Tell me what you know.”

Was Hyunjin reading this wrong? He eyeballed the older boy. "This and that," he answered. "Maybe it's important. Maybe it's not. You should work at reconciliation. That's all." 

"...There's nothing to reconcile. It's his move." 

"Alright." Hyunjin played with the strings of his hoodie in a facade of near boredom. "Whatever you choose." 

Changbin was uncannily silent.

Hyunjin tore his gaze from his hoodie. 

Changbin was leaning forward with a face carved of stone.

Intense like it had never been before. 

“...Don’t say a word to Minho. If he found out you knew anything. If he found out anyone knew _anything_...”

Hyunjin dropped his hoodie strings. 

"What?" 

He stared. Changbin stared right back. 

Hyunjin looked at Changbin, flummoxed, as though he were seeing him for the very first time. “Minho-hyung? Who said anything about him? I was talking about Chan-hyung.”

Changbin opened his mouth. 

Nothing came out.

Hyunjin rolled onto his stomach. He pushed himself onto his arms, then onto his rear and fixated his attention on Changbin. "Minho-hyung?" he said. 

Changbin stood. He put a hand on his stomach, expression unreadable. Posture stiff.

"Bathroom," he said, stilted after a good, long while.

He glanced at Hyunjin once.

Then he left- without ever looking back.

Hyunjin let him go. 

* * *

The sun was blindingly bright.

Felix hunched over and sunk into the cool shade of the large, spread blue umbrella rising from the hole in the table, above his head.

The ice cream parlor was extraordinarily well-kept. Blue and white with cream-colored decorations and a chalkboard sign out front. It was boxed on the corner of the street by a short red-brick wall and line of wondrously green hedges. Round, black-wire tables with wooden-back chairs had been placed in the seating area off to the side.

The dessert inside cost a fortune he probably would spend and keep spending on more than rare occasions if he could.

Luckily, today, he didn't have to worry about the cost.

He glanced towards the doors of the parlor, with good timing, as Seungmin mindfully brushed his way out the polished glass exit.

With the weather as good as it had been, despite the wind, all that was needed were t-shirts and shorts. Chan had more of a habit than anyone else wearing second layers in warmer days. Temperament aside, there was no one more hot-blooded.

Maybe it was the stress.

Felix could relate.

Felix could relate to that a lot.

It was quickly becoming his middle name. Seungmin, whose incredibly slow walking was borderline ridiculous, finally made it to their table and set down his cardboard carrier.

Two iced-teas, a paper cup of rainbow sprinkles and one massive-sized, fruit gelato, adorned in syrup with granola and two spoons.

"Thanks for the treat," Felix said as Seungmin took the seat across from him. He grabbed his iced-tea.

"Don't worry," Seungmin replied. "You owe me."

Felix paused, mouth over straw. "Wait, you want me to pay you back-?"

Seungmin didn't answer that particular question.

In fact, he grabbed one of the spoons in the gelato and pointed the back-end of the spoon none-too-discreetly at three very familiar people at another table ahead.

"I just want to know why we're spying on them."

Felix nearly lunged across the table, forcing Seungmin's freakishly, highly-raised spoon down. _"Don't draw any attention!_ " He smiled through his teeth, nice and fake.

Seungmin shrugged off his hand and looked at him, unfazed. "Why?"

"Because I don't want them knowing we're here."

"Okay but why?"

"Because."

Seungmin gazed at Felix for an infinite number of seconds before dragging his eyes past the other boy's shoulder to the table beyond.

It was without an umbrella, near the brick wall and a blossoming, flowered bush.

The backs of their managers and the unhidden face of their youngest team member were easy to see.

And if Seungmin could see them, then there was no doubt they could see him.

That was the general rule of thumb when it came to people-watching. Or any kind of watching, really.

Especially ones from windows.

Which was what Felix had been doing when Seungmin found him in the bedroom Changbin had abandoned and Chan had ditched for the living room couch.

When Seungmin had peeked over Felix's shoulder, he had caught his friend judging Jeongin who was standing on the street below.

Jeongin had been staring directly back at them- which had been incredibly off-putting- until their managers had joined him and taken his attention away.

Felix had, without asking, grabbed Seungmin's hand and began bodily dragging him from the dorm.

Truthfully curious, Seungmin hadn't put up a fight.

He didn't have plans for anything else, and a part of him had almost felt left out by the whatever ruckus Minho and Chan had caused an hour and a half before.

They had caught sight of Jisung in the kitchen on their way out, and Felix had extended an invitation. But Jisung, looking thoroughly perturbed, had rejected it.

Seungmin noticed Jisung texting on his phone for just an instant-

Then Felix had shoveled him into the hall.

The amount of effort Felix had put into not being seen was mind-boggling.

There was no way their managers and Jeongin didn't know.

They had stood right behind them at a crosswalk for three minutes.

The behavior was odd. As odd as their leader and Jisung and Minho and- honestly- well as odd as everyone's had been.

Seungmin wasn't the sort to pass up an opportunity to figure it out whatever the problem was that plagued them.

It was more of a hassle to deal with anyway when things like this were left ignored.

But was this really the way to go about it?

There wasn't anything unusual about one of their band members hanging out with their managers. They were their hyungs- and they had been for weeks and months and years.

Admittedly, the discussion their youngest teammate seemed to be having with them looked somewhat serious, but it probably wasn't something to point out as a 'big deal'.

Frankly, they should've been following Minho.

Wherever it was he had gotten off to late last night and wherever he had gotten off to with Chan today.

It probably would've solved more problems than the ones they were bound to create.

He brought his eyes back to Felix.

His friend and teammate had begun to tear into the gelato, pensiveness in every bite.

"What's this about?" he finally asked.

Felix ate for a good minute before answering. "He knows something about hyung that he isn't telling. He's pretending and I don't like it. I'm going to wring it out of him."

Seungmin blinked. That was more forward than he expected. Felix usually said things with... more tact.

He studied the other boy's face.

It wasn't exhausted. It wasn't weary or heavy with sleepless bags.

It was- fine- actually.

Blemished and freckled and truly fine.

"By hyung, you mean Minho?"

"Yeah."

"Are you still thinking of what happened in the stairwell?"

"No. Not at all."

Felix dug his spoon into the gelato- and left it. He interlaced his fingers on the table in front them.

"...Alright. It is. But only a little. It's all connected."

"What is?"

"Hyungie getting sick. The stairwell. Changbin-hyung glued to his side-"

"Oh, you noticed that too?"

"I notice plenty, Seungmin. He's gotten distant." Felix gestured with a thumb in the direction behind them, keeping it low and hidden.

Seungmin's eyebrows crawled higher on his forehead. "So this is your plan? Eavesdropping on them from a distance we can't even hear them from?"

Felix narrowed his eyes. "You're not being very encouraging right now."

"There's no reason to see any of this as logical," Seungmin responded. He scooped into their gelato. "We could just start with you instead of skulking around."

Felix's shoulders straightened, incredulous. "Me?"

Seungmin didn't see the issue. "Yeah. What do you think hyung is hiding? What would it have to be to warrant this?"

"I-" Felix struggled to answer for a moment. Not for lack of words but because he wasn't quite sure how to put them without coming across as anymore ridiculous than Seungmin already thought he was being.

He dropped his gaze to the wire of their table.

To his white-knuckled hands.

"Okay..." he began slowly. "I know... I _know_ this might sound crazy. And I told Chan-hyung about it. Minho-hyung... I think there's someone after him."

Seungmin was staring, interested, but still spooning ice cream into his mouth.

Felix sighed. He tried to stress the importance of his information. "In a _bad way_. I think he's in trouble and someone's out there making it worse. I think it's _stressing him out_. I think it's making him _sick_."

"Do you have proof?"

"What." Felix said it flatly.

Seungmin lifted his shoulders and dropped them a bit. He dragged some syrup off the rim of their shared container and stuck it in his mouth. "That's a lot to be thinking is going on. Proof?"

"It is _not_ a _lot_ ," Felix said, provoked. "I heard him on the phone."

"Minho-hyung."

"Minho-hyung," Felix confirmed. 

Seungmin thought on it. "What did you hear?"

"Some guy threatening to end his career."

Seungmin's eyebrows really did soar to his hairline at that. "Well that's serious."

Felix looked two seconds away from throwing something at him. "That's what I've been saying. I really dislike that it took you this long to see it."

"I'm not going to make judgments without all the facts."

"Then you and I are the same."

Seungmin wisely kept quiet in disagreement.

Felix stared- then scoffed. Harmless and un-angry. He unlaced his fingers and grabbed his spoon once more. "I have a feeling Innie knows more about it than he's saying. Maybe he and hyung made some sort of deal. I don't know what sort of thing that'd be though."

Seungmin's eyes traveled to where Jeongin sat.

Their younger friend was looking at a spread of papers and what seemed like pamphlets with some photographs printed on.

He couldn't be too sure. They were not at the greatest distance for reading.

If what Felix had said was true... then what could Jeongin be showing their managers? What if Felix had misheard or misinterpreted what he thought was going on?

Nothing was certain. They couldn't pretend it was.

_Except..._

There was something certain, wasn't there?

Minho himself.

"Fine." He heard it leave his mouth as though it had come from someone else. "Say everything you think is going on is true. Couldn't you ask Lino-hyung for yourself and see?"

Felix's expression pinched, acrimonious. "Don't you think I tried? All he did was stuff me with desserts."

"That muffin you brought home for Bin-hyung?"

"I'm telling you I tried. He got defensive and locked up."

"Well if you were making baseless assumptions I could see why," Seungmin attempted to reason.

It had the opposite effect. Felix's relief, whatever little existed, had vanished.

"They were not baseless accusations. I saw it with my own eyes. I don't understand why no one is _hearing me_."

"I hear you."

Felix fixed his gaze onto him, relentless. "Then what am I saying?"

Seungmin was confounded. What was with the glare? He was only stating facts. "You think there's something going on."

Felix did more than stare at Seungmin. He beheld him as if he were the single most infuriating person to have ever crossed his path.

"Really. That's what you took away from this. That there's something going on."

Seungmin shifted- for the first time feeling wary. "That's what you said, wasn't it?"

Felix picked up the cup of sprinkles and flung them at his face, irrationally incensed. "That's _literally_ not the _point!_ "

Seungmin squawked, clutching at his eyes.

Felix, looming halfway over the table, nearly shouted his apologies.

" _Sorry!_ I'm _sorry_ \- I didn't mean-"

He cursed in English.

"I _didn't mean to do that_!"

Felix rubbed his hands over his face, fully shamed.

Seungmin, unsure if his eyeballs were bleeding or on fire, balked at his bandmate from between his clutching fingers.

"Why would you do that?" he exclaimed, voice raised.

Both their phones pinged.

Felix glanced down.

He checked his lock-screen.

A notification from Instagram. From 'Stray Kids'.

He opened it up, wondering how soon they would need to run from the scene of the disruption with the eyes of the employees and customers locked on their location.

Jeongin had posted.

In the gorgeous, vibrantly filtered shot of the outdoor patio, their managers’ faces were hidden with enlarged smiley emojis. Jeongin smiled sweetly, a ‘V’ poking his cheek. Four tables back and two more over, Felix could clearly be seen- a frenzied blur- launching a fistful of sprinkles at Seungmin’s eyes. The standard labeled hashtags were in place- followed by a caption.

_|whose little brothers are these? 🙃🤡🙃_

Felix whipped around.

Jeongin and their managers looked at him blankly. 

* * *

Donggyu watched as Felix hauled Seungmin to his feet and they beat a hasty retreat, fumbling to clean their table and readjust their chairs. There was a part of him he knew that was supposed to be concerned.

Largely he just felt confused.

What had they even been doing? 

Jaehyun, on his mobile, was already liking the post Jeongin had uploaded. Unfazed. Like usual.

Sometimes Donggyu really envied him.

He turned his attention back to Jeongin who was collecting his papers and brochures into the large, yellow envelope he'd brought along.

“They’re too obvious,” said Jeongin. He closed the envelope and tucked it into the bag hanging off his chair. "So. What do you think?" he questioned.

Donggyu frowned. He contemplated what Jeongin had shared. "You know it won't be allowed. Management wouldn't approve. At all."

"You're management," Jeongin replied.

"We are 'titled' management," Jaehyun corrected. "You know we have no power."

"That's... true." Jeongin remained nonplussed. "But you could cover it? It's not completely a lie."

Donggyu wasn't so sure. It was completely a lie.

"If you're visiting your family, it's not like we'll stop you," Jaehyun said. He poked at the strawberries that had sunk to the bottom of his yogurt smoothie.

Donggyu looked at him, appalled. "What are you saying? We can't-"

Jaehyun spoke over him easily. "If you want to go on ahead with this, then we'll have to put an end to it. It's as simple as that."

Donggyu couldn't believe what he was hearing. He twisted in his chair to stare down his same-aged friend. " _No_."

Jeongin got to his feet. He glanced at them both. "Then I'll be with my family. Hyung will be with me. If anything goes wrong, then you know where we really are."

Donggyu stood, protest on his tongue.

"Leave it," Jaehyun told him. He kept digging through his smoothie.

Jeongin hesitated. His eyes lingered on his hyungs. Then he shouldered his bag. "I'm sorry," he sincerely expressed.

He worried his lip.

He adjusted his grip on his bag.

His remorseful gaze read every protest in Donggyu's face.

"It's over-the-line. I know that. I'm just..." He paused. "Please trust me. I promise we'll be alright."

Jaehyun hummed low in the depths of his throat. He shook his cup over his head, swishing the melting contents around underneath the glare of the sun. "Don't make promises that can't be kept."

Jeongin shook his head back and forth. "Hyung. I promise."

Jaehyun glanced up at him, one eye cracked.

"Then enjoy your trip." 

* * *

"I hate you," Chan said.

"I hate you more," Minho said back.

They gasped for air, bent over, hands on their waists as they struggled to regain their bearings. They were in the middle of the street in front a two-tiered fountain and plethora of green foliage. 

Minho was a few staggered steps ahead of Chan. He turned around to face his hyung and raised his fists.

"Don't you know why humans were born with two fists? So we could hit twice."

Chan squinted, hissing in a breath through his nose and teeth. "That's scary. Quit saying scary things."

He raised his own fists regardless.

They counted in their heads. They threw out a hand.

They both chose rock.

Minho shouted.

Chan yelled.

They both collapsed on the fountain as though they'd just broken their backs in half.

 _"Why do you keep picking rock?"_ Minho ranted, wheezing, red and flustered. He sat on the curve of the fountain.

Chan sat beside him and punched him in the arm. "You've picked... rock... all nine _times_ ," he strove to express, indignant. "Who does that?"

"You picked rock nine times too!"

Chan showed considerable restraint, and did _not_ , as much as he wanted to, throw a bunch of water from the cascading waterheads behind them onto Minho's face.

They exchanged dirty looks.

They attempted to re-catch their breaths.

Despite all misgivings, and having had to _chase_ Minho for thirty minutes along the back alleys and streets of their neighborhood, their impromptu game of tag had wound up leading them towards the tiny theater twenty-five blocks from where they lived.

Minho had crossed Chan thrice, tripped him twice and tackled him off the sidewalk into the grass once to rip the theater tickets from the depths of his jacket pocket.

They were limping as they jogged to the theater, a familiar one to them both that played foreign films on the regular- notably animated ones.

Chan paid for the popcorn.

Minho asked for extra butter.

They snatched an extra-large Coke and stuck one straw inside.

Their seats were good ones, smack-dab in the middle of the darkened cinema, and they shuffled to their assigned spots with proper manners to the few others around them.

 _Children of the Sea_ played on screen.

With rapt, undivided attention, they watched.

When it ended, they clapped.

They settled in, reading the ending credits until they finished and the lights rose.

Minho had glanced over then.

Chan's eyebrows were furrowed low and baffled. "What was that?" he had asked.

Minho's expression had been hard to read, but his voice had been incredibly, jarringly lively as he pointed to the black theater screen and said-

_"Didn't they both die?"_

The two of them had spent the next five minutes going over the plot and getting confused about the latter half of the story again.

That talking turned to light bickering as they dumped their trash and went to the bathroom. 

_"We weren't meant to understand,"_ Chan had argued.

_"But it was easy to understand? Something happened and it ended. Isn't that the point?"_

_"No. It's about_ more _than that, and I know you know that."_

_"I only know fear."_

Chan, separated by the other stall, had no idea how serious Minho was being- if he was being serious at all. His tone was fickle enough.

They had left the theater together, stepping into the brisk wind and glorious sun.

That was when Minho stretched his arms, touched his toes, and began to lope away.

Chan had followed behind, pacing himself.

Sure enough, Minho had started to go faster.

Sure enough, Minho had started weaving through the people on the street. 

_Sure enough,_ Minho hastened to a sprint and dashed away.

There hadn't been a particular destination in mind for either of them.

The same shopping district had been ventured in and out of numerous times.

Just when Chan had caught up to Minho, weakened in exhaustion, the younger boy had put out a hand and engaged him in a wordless bout of gawi-bawi-bo.

As it had been a tie, they had an unspoken agreement that Minho would continue to run and Chan would continue follow until one of them won to make an actual demand. 

Chan hated them both for that. 

Minho swiped his arm across his forehead, hit his bandage and yelped.

Chan inhaled, then exhaled, long-suffering.

He pinched his nose.

"Minho..."

Out the corner of his eye he saw his friend extend a hand.

_"Ahn naemyeon jin guh-"_

Minho showed scissors.

Chan showed rock.

Minho drew back, scandalized. "You cheated," he accused.

"What are you talking about?" Chan refuted.

He fussed with Minho's disheveled, wind-blown hair, setting it in some semblance of order. Then he dropped his hands onto his thighs and fixed the other boy with a look.

"I won. You have to concede."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then you can buy me something for eighty-thousand won again."

"That's blackmail."

"No, it's a threat."

Minho slumped.

His features creased, defeated.

"Fine. What do you want?"

It wasn't exactly the kind of sight Chan wanted to see. Nothing triumphant about it.

He had been hoping to spend a nice walk over, easing his bandmate into a level of comfortable that would make it easier to talk about the not-so-pleasant things. He hadn't even been planning on watching the movie- it was supposed to be a ruse to get Minho out of the dorm and at his side.

The tickets were Jisung's.

As they had been in the JYP building earlier, going through the older saved files of music on their laptops, the rapper had mentioned his own plans to catch a film and meal with his hyung.

Chan had _not_ stolen the tickets.

Just to be clear- he had swiped them off the table they were working on and pocketed them for safe-keeping, as he and Jisung and their laptops and notebooks and walkable equipment increasingly overtook the workspace. He had full intentions to return them.

Except... well now he couldn't.

He'd gotten too carried away with Minho's antics.

The only thing truly complaining was his body, aching and worn out as it was.

The movie itself had been curious, bizarre, thought-provoking.

Why had Jisung bought tickets to see something like it?

"Hey."

"Ah?"

Minho gazed despondently at the ground.

Chan followed his friend's gaze to their shadows on the cobbled stone beneath their feet. They were leaning against one another, dark and still.

The questions Chan wanted to ask.

_What was the conversation Felix overheard?_

_What's been hurting you?_

_Will you let me help?_

When he spoke, that was not the question that left his mouth.

"The _Children of the Sea_. What do you really think it means?"

If Minho was thrown off by the unobtrusive words, he didn't show it. He kept looking at their shadows, growing longer in the sun.

Chan observed the solemn and blank features of his teammate's face.

They had always, in his quietest moments, looked untouchable and indifferent.

This time was no different.

"How big is the sea?" Minho finally asked.

It wasn't meant to be answered.

Chan waited, brow furrowing.

Minho went on. "Sungie and I watch these documentaries sometimes. Stuff on sharks and whales. On the tiny creatures in the sand and all the different crabs with their shells. That's the surface. Those are the things easy to see. It's not that scary swimming in those kinds of levels." He fiddled with the strings of the bracelet on his left hand.

Chan noticed it, for the first time, the vibrant, cyan blue, dirtied by the years.

"But the actual sea is deeper. Blacker. You can't see. If you go too far down it'll crush you. Even knowing that, there are people who still want to see it for themselves. All the big and ugly things. The mysteries. Why do we care so much about the 'unknown'. Haven't you wondered that, hyung?"

Chan, who had grown quite focused on Minho's words, startled as his friend's attention directed itself onto him.

Had he wondered it?

Of course he had.

Wasn't that the gripe of existentialism?

The unknown and where you belonged, how important you were, the actual meaning of existence.

The members of his team were equally introspective. Just how deep those thoughts went, however, were to the privacy of their own.

Their religions and beliefs were varied. Their feelings were disparate and yet the same. There was no singular type of 'stray', only that they all held aspects of themselves alienated one way or another from the constructed world around them.

Over the years those aspects would change and grow.

How much they continued to care about the greater 'greats' of the universe and their own place within it- he couldn't say he knew.

When did someone stop caring? Was that the blessing or the curse human nature and curiosity?

_Does it matter?_

Chan couldn't help but look at Minho as he mulled over the question.

Minho, who had tore his gaze from their shadows, to hold Chan's eyes with darkened ones of his own. "Would you do anything to see it for yourself?"

Chan heard the unspoken question beneath. He searched Minho's expression, serious. His hands in his lap ached to grab Minho's, squeeze them tight and say something.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

Changbin and Felix.

Chan thought of his friends. His bandmates. His brothers-in-arms and family.

_Is this what they saw? Looking at you, Minho... seeing you like this?_

The great, the big, the terrifying, the deep and dark unknown.

Minho would walk any length with his team. He would walk further lengths without them, remembering, knowing they were there.

To that distance ahead...

"Why did you come to Seoul?"

Four years later he asked it again.

The first time Chan had asked had been on the floor of their cramped training dorms as the others slept, in a shared room, just him and Minho and softer faces and younger, brighter eyes.

Like four years before, Minho answered the same.

Smiling.

Happiness blessed with uncertainties.

"I wanted to know the same view my friend saw."

Chan looked away, towards the ground.

At their sneakers.

At their loose laces.

Softly, very softly, he asked, "Have you seen it yet?"

Minho didn't answer for a moment. The smile seemed to grow wider in his voice. "No. I haven't."

He got to his feet.

Chan grabbed his wrist.

He gazed at the scratches and faint bruises beneath his grip.

For a long, long time, he said nothing.

Did nothing.

Except press the pad of his thumb carefully over the fingerprinted marks.

He felt Minho's eyes on him.

There was nothing frightened in the way he stood. There was nothing concerned, even though he and Chan were looking at the subtle brown blotches on his skin.

"Who did this?" he questioned quietly. He lifted his head.

Minho tilted his chin, considering. "I did it to myself."

Last night, Minho hadn't been home. He had left the dorms and returned at six, before the break of dawn.

Chan knew because he had been on the couch sleeping until Minho's entrance had stirred him awake.

Was this the result of whatever excursion he had been on?

Chan released his hold on Minho's wrist. He got to his feet.

Unable to help himself, he scooped his arms beneath his friend's and forcefully seized him in a hug.

"Minho," he said, speaking importantly into the other boy's shoulder.

God, they both reeked of dirt and sweat.

What had they been running for?

"Hyung," said Minho. "This is embarrassing."

"Good."

Chan let go. He stepped back a bit, prodding at Minho's rapidly darkening ears.

"If someone is hurting you, I want to know. If _anything_ is hurting you, I want to know that too. You understand that, don't you? Why I want you to be honest."

Minho worked his jaw. He worked it for a time. He swallowed. He didn't look away from Chan, though, and Chan counted that as an achievement.

"I'll be better soon," he said. "Things will be alright."

"Can I trust you?"

"You can trust me."

Chan placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and shook it lightly. "No secrets between us?"

Minho faltered. His hand rose.

But instead of using it remove Chan's hold, he set it on top- and grasped it gently. "No secrets," he echoed.

They stood like that for a moment more.

Passing shadows above and around them of people, children and birds.

They relinquished their hands from one another.

They turned towards home. 

* * *

Far away, a distance closer to the dorms, on a sidewalk riddled in holes and cracks, Hyunjin and Seungmin walked.

Well, Seungmin walked. Hyunjin stumbled as he snickered into the straw of his smoothie. 

"Despite what you think," Seungmin began when the laughter continued to brew in the depths of his fellow teammate's chest, "I didn't actually ask you to come with me so you could make fun of me."

"You got ratted out by Innie. How am I supposed to not laugh? That's so embarrassing," Hyunjin retorted. "What were you and Bokkie even doing?"

He sucked a massive amount of smoothie through his straw and suffered a brain-freeze for it.

Seungmin couldn't say he felt any sympathy.

There were other matters on his mind.

His conversation with Felix, for one.

Sprinkles in the cornea of his eyes aside, it had been a simultaneously confusing and insightful affair. There were pieces of information he had in his corner, questionable facts to consider.

Questionable facts to be wary of. Like Felix slowly losing his mind.

However much of it was left.

He had gone back to the dorm and showered, if only to give himself time to think. He had come to no conclusion on his own, and reconvening with Felix was out of the question, as his teammate had sealed himself in his bedroom, refusing to come out.

Thus, Seungmin had found Hyunjin coloring a page in his journal, and requested step outdoors for a bit.

He wanted to get what he had learned out of his system, but so far, he wasn't sure where to start. How could he put the situation into understandable words?

It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. 

Was this what Felix had felt like not so long ago?

Seungmin scratched his head. He could see where the irritation was coming from now. What was he supposed to do with how little and how much he knew?

Was it worth saying anything Hyunjin- dragging others into what was looking to turn into a bigger mess?

He didn't get a chance to think on it for long. Hyunjin was speaking, contemplatively. 

"You know, when I saw him, he was packing a bag."

Seungmin pushed all his thoughts to the corner of his mind. "What?"

Hyunjin chewed on the tip of his straw, almost absentmindedly. His eyes on Seungmin, though, were alert. "I.N," he said, spelling out the nickname as if it would further emphasize his point. "He was putting a suitcase and backpack together."

"What for?"

"To see his parents."

"Randomly?"

"It's not too random. He visits more than the rest of us."

"I meant with this timing." Seungmin stalled on his next words. He thought of Jeongin with their managers- the papers between them. "With... everything that's been going on. It's sudden."

"I did mention that to him." Hyunjin shook his smoothie lightly. "He told me to focus on myself."

Seungmin frowned. "Maybe it's not a bad thing he goes home for a day or two. We could all use a break."

Hyunjin might've agreed with the statement had he not held a mini interrogation session with their youngest member already.

The clothes Jeongin had so meticulously packed were meant for weather much colder than anything they were experiencing in the city. There were three beanies, two sets of winter gloves and a heavier set of boots Hyunjin had become familiar with seeing in their longer days of snowfall.

Sweaters and long pants.

Unless Jeongin's family had migrated to the arctic, it was highly unlikely that was where their plotting friend was going.

Not only that, when Hyunjin had offered to tag along, Jeongin had shut him down, mentioning unsympathetically that he had plans to invite Minho already. _Minho_. Of all people.

That was the most suspicious out of anything his teammates had been getting themselves into the past few weeks.

Hyunjin had asked then, truly sincere, if Jeongin planned on disposing their trouble-inducing hyung into some sort of forested, wintry woods.

Jeongin _had_ told him no. But that 'no' had sounded more like an affirmation than anything else.

Hyunjin puckered his lips at the thought. The pineapple in his smoothie was both unwanted and needlessly sour.

The sun lowered on the back of their necks. Simmering heat and sweeping orange. His palm dampened in the condensation of his weeping cup. He shook his hand and watched the droplets catch the bursting sun before breaking on the ground.

Changbin's apprehension.

Chan's preoccupation.

Jeongin's ruse.

It felt like he was the only one of them stepping back and watching them all unfold.

Jisung had been distracted. Felix had been agitated. Seungmin-

Hyunjin's steps slowed.

They slowed until they stopped.

He grabbed Seungmin by the sleeve and dragged him back. "Wait for a moment, please," he requested inattentively, mind traveling a mile a minute.

Seungmin waited, expectant. Hyunjin couldn't read his mind. It was painfully apparent, however, there was something on it. 

He could address it later. 

Jeongin and Minho. A trip. Private.

Out of sight from the rest.

Out of range from the rest.

Changbin and Chan's comments spun on a record in his head.

' _If he found out anyone knew anything...'_

_'_ _I know everything, Hyunjin'_

Did he? Did Chan _know_ or was he just pretending?

Changbin, Chan and Jeongin.

The same three who had been in the practice room when this all began.

Felix had a point.

Felix had been onto something.

What did they see? What did they know?

It'd drive him mad if he stood around and pulled at cheap, breaking threads.

It wasn't that Hyunjin wasn't proactive. He paid attention to everything, in rare occasions with a hyper-fixation, dedicated and committed until he had seen his task through.

He followed his bandmates' moods. He encouraged them. He denied them. He listened. He observed and stepped in when he felt he should.

Gauging reactions. Setting loose. Containing himself.

Monitoring, watching, learning.

In the last few weeks, there had been nothing to witness except for Minho's flaming, pink elephant in the middle of their living room, in their kitchen, in their beds. In every aspect of their waking life, even if it hid- even if it trailed meters back on their heels- it was _there._

And it was time to shoo it out the door.

Hyunjin had no reservations.

He had no ties to the situation.

Objectively- neither did Seungmin. Escapade with Felix aside...

And that meant-

Hyunjin tore his gaze from the bleeding horizon- from the cityscape burning warm and bright beneath the rippling rays. "Seungminnie," he said aloud.

"...What is it?"

"How long has it been since you used a snowboard?" 

* * *

Jeongin knelt on the floor of their locked bathroom.

He rummaged through the trash bin quietly, nose curling at the myriad of used garbage within. The process was definitively worse trying to be careful and slow.

Reluctantly, he stood, and dumped the contents of the trash onto the floor. He looked at it all in disgust. Then he looked closer- socked foot overturning a thin plastic bag, tied and knotted twice.

He picked it up. Over his head, beneath the lights, he could see the discoloration.

He took a breath. He steadied himself.

He went to the sink and used it to hold the bag as he tore it open.

Nauseating.

The smell of iron permeated his senses.

He covered his mouth with an arm and emptied the bag into the sink. He stared at the bloodied tissues with furrowed, knitted brows.

Minho never had been as great of a liar as he believed. He tucked things away and pushed them out of sight, but truth was so easily written on his face. Truth was so easily heard.

And Jeongin had heard it in the early dawn, as Minho returned to dorms.

Coughs and gasps so violently, spitting and shuddered breaths.

Just what did he think he was hiding?

Nothing.

Jeongin glared at the mess in the sink.

There was nothing.

Least of all from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assured, for all those confuddled by the timeline in the previous chapter, it shall now be moving chronologically. Happy reading! 🤸 If you'd like... you could give 'Goodbye' a listen. If you'd like. If- (as an honest sidenote: if you'd like to vibe to something, 'Color Ring' by Winner is great for any time of the day)


	9. |Aureate

* * *

**Three Days Prior:**

**Eventide**

* * *

Early evening dinner was quiet. Undisturbed and slow.

Down two corners, in a secluded booth, they took turns cutting meat beside their bowls of soup.

When they finished, they walked away from the dorms.

A meaningless walk.

A walk with no direction.

Side-by-side, Jisung spoke first. “Not bad. There was something unfamiliar.”

“What?” questioned Minho.

“Dunno,” Jisung replied. “I could just tell.”

“Maybe it was the seasoning.”

“I think it was the broth.”

“The broth of the seasoning.”

“No, the seasoning of the broth. What was yours like?”

“Fine. Same as always,” Minho responded.

Jisung acknowledged the words without an answer.

They wandered for a while, content to stay quiet in one another’s company. A comfortable comfort at ease.

There was a vending machine down the hill of the street corner ahead.

Minho guided them towards it with a slight switch in step. “Did we usually eat at that place at this time?” he wondered.

“No. Not that I remember," Jisung mused. "It was quiet, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a good time to go again.”

“Next time. I’ll pay.”

Jisung’s curiosity peaked. “You don’t normally go around without your wallet. You just forgot?”

“No.” Minho’s eyes narrowed, reminiscing. “I didn’t have a chance to grab it. That hyung…”

Remembrance brightened Jisung’s eyes. His mouth opened wide and he slapped Minho on the arm. “That’s right! What was that about? I was trying to grab you first!”

His hyung snorted. “It’s that guy’s old age. Guess he didn’t want to be alone, so he dragged me along.”

“What did you do?”

“Running. Mostly.”

“For that many hours?”

“We sat a few times.”

“It must’ve been fun.”

“It was a lot of things. He’s fast.”

“You’re both fast. I see you both charging at me and it’s like my life is ending.”

The corner of Minho’s lips raised. “I wouldn’t do anything to you.”

“I know. That almost makes it scarier,” Jisung joked.

In front of the vending machine, Jisung slipped loose change in the slot. Minho chose a snack.

They watched the machine light up brighter, rattling gently.

The chip bag fell. 

And stopped halfway.

Minho and Jisung looked at it.

They shared a glance.

They gave the machine a shake.

Nothing resulted.

They shook it a bit harder.

Still caught.

Jisung glanced around them- then banged his fist on the glass with some purpose.

The chip bag lurched lower.

They knelt and pushed open the slot, craning their necks in an attempt to peer at the chips trapped inside.

“We could probably reach,” Minho said with a great deal of consideration.

“We can’t even see it,” Jisung pointed out.

Minho wiggled his arm into the slot and attempted to cram it up regardless. He complained lightly in the process. “Things really haven’t been working out lately.”

Jisung looked at Minho. This close he could see the consternation in each new-creased line of his friend’s face. “What sort of things?”

Minho grunted. “Everything.” His hand hit a couple of things and he yelped.

Jisung helped wrangle it out of the machine. “You’ve had a lot going on.”

“I know.” Minho squinted at their vending conundrum and got to his feet. “Do you have enough for one more?”

Jisung handed over his money pouch.

They watched together as another chip bag was selected, pushed and dropped from its row. It hit the previously trapped snack and knocked it to the slot below.

Minho cheered.

Jisung did too. “See?” he said. “All it needed was a little help!”

“That’s right. Always work together!” Minho lectured for no reason in particular. He went and retrieved the first snack.

They brought their attention to the second chip bag- now stuck in the very place the first had fallen.

They paused.

They frowned.

“Should we leave it?” Jisung suggested.

Minho thought on it for a moment. He shook his head and moved ahead. “No need. Someone else will come along and get it.”

“Or get a bunch stuck too.”

“That would be funnier, wouldn’t it?”

Jisung guffawed. “It would be to someone like you.” He eyed his hyung, curious. “You feeling any better then?”

Minho ripped open their snack. He peered inside. “I don’t know. The days feel long. Some feel short. I’m waiting it out.”

He held the bag between them.

Jisung stuck a hand in. “There isn’t anything else to do when that happens, is there,” he said. “You can try and be proactive but it’s not much use if your body won’t get out of bed.”

“I haven’t been having trouble with that. I’ve been getting out of bed a lot.” Minho waited until Jisung removed his hand, then gave the bag a shake to spread the salt.

“Is that so?” 

Minho made a noise of confirmation. “I can’t sit still if there’s something up here.” He tapped the side of his head with the bag.

Jisung brought it back down. “Don’t shed your hair into this.”

Minho leaned forward and stuck his bangs inside.

“ _What did I say?_ ” Jisung complained. He yanked the snack away- then ate from it again. “I saw you’ve been working out. Even though you’re not supposed to.”

“I’m allowed to.”

“Management doesn’t care?”

“Management aren’t doctors.”

“A doctor is a doctor.”

“By definition.”

“By degree. You should listen to what they say.”

“I did. Besides, I’m all healed now. No aches or pains.”

“We all know that’s a lie. You were coughing so loud last night, Innie got out of bed to see you.”

Minho tripped over his feet. Jisung held him by the elbow, eyebrow raised.

“What?”

Minho coughed. “Something went down the wrong tube.”

“You weren’t eating anything.”

“I was.”

“I saw you, you weren’t.”

“I _was.”_ Minho wiggled out of Jisung’s grasp and started walking once more. He glanced over at his friend a moment later. “I didn’t see him,” he said carefully. “Jeongin. Maybe he was going to the kitchen.”

Jisung’s brows remained lifted high on his forehead. “No. He said it very clearly. ‘ _I’m gonna go see hyung’._ ”

“...I see. You left me to my suffering.”

“Not the point. You got a cold, fell off some stairs and fainted. What’s with you?” Jisung questioned with a snort. He nudged his arm against Minho’s. “You got something you wanna tell me?”

Minho kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Not really,” he answered easily. “I’m not sure why everyone keeps asking.”

“Could be concern,” Jisung responded just as easily. “It’s generally what people feel when their friends start getting hurt.”

“Ah, really?”

“...It bothers me you don’t take this seriously.”

Minho glanced at him again. Jisung caught his friend’s eyes. He halted his steps.

By extension, Minho did too.

Closed off.

For all his openness and cheer, there was something shuttered behind his face.

Out of reach.

Still.

After all the days Jisung had given him, his hyung was still out of reach.

Was it not enough?

He knew. Jisung _knew_ it took time. That when they needed to isolate themselves from people and the world, it _took time_ to come back, and even then, not everyone felt well- despite their words that they did.

But this was harder. Harder to see and know.

His friend was in front of him, the same as before. His friend was in front of him, different than before.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“I am,” Minho said.

“No.” The words spilled out again.

Hesitant.

“Talk to me...? _”_

And Minho told him- “No.”

Swift.

Without hesitation.

He regarded Jisung before turning on his heel to go, crumpling their bag of snacks and tossed it in the nearest bin as he passed.

Jisung didn’t follow after.

Jisung didn’t move at all.

Didn’t look at his teammate with a frown. Didn’t look at his teammate hurt or confused.

He simply looked at Minho- and waited.

Further down the sidewalk, his hyung’s shoulders hunched. His footsteps stopped.

Evening broke across his silhouette, honey, sunburst gold.

In a light so grand, he seemed so small.

Jisung walked. He joined Minho at his side.

Shadows were purpling the sky. Dusk would soon sweep in.

“You know...” he began.

Minho gazed from his peripherals. “What?”

“...If you go somewhere, don’t go too far.” Jisung met his gaze. “Otherwise I can’t meet you.”

Minho searched Jisung’s face. “And if I don’t want to meet?”

Jisung offered half a smile. “I’m all about the freedom of choices, Lee Minho. But that’s something I’ll have to protest against.” They turned a familiar corner. “Besides, we’d probably end up in the same place anyway. Since you’re always following me around.”

“You’re the one following me. You like me.”

“You like _me_.”

“I’m not arguing this with you again. You bother me the most.”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “What are you talking about? I’m the last person who bugs you for anything.”

Minho rolled his eyes harder, grinning as he mocked. “ _Hyung, make me ramen! If you’re gonna make some for yourself, make some for me too. I want an acorn!”_

“I never asked for an acorn you psycho.”

“Not on the outside. But on the inside. I heard it.”

“That’s seriously nonsense.”

They made it home with ease, keeping an eye out for unwanted followers.

At the side entrance of their dorm, a person they recognized waited.

Jeongin sipped on an iced coffee, bundled comfortably despite the warm air. From beneath his brushed down bangs, his dark eyes locked onto them both. “Hyungs. Welcome back,” he greeted.

“What are you doing out here?” Jisung questioned.

Jeongin’s gaze fell onto Minho. “Looking for hyung,” he said.

Minho steadily gazed back.

Jeongin turned his head away, up towards their floor of the building, to a window they all knew belonged to their managers.

Hyunjin and Seungmin were plastered to the glass.

Jisung made a face. “The heck?” He crudely gestured with a hand. His bandmates returned the salute. “What’s that about?” he snorted.

Jeongin lifted his shoulders and dropped them, not particularly caring. “They’ve been like that for a while.” Thoughtfulness crossed his face. “They were looking for you, actually, hyung. Maybe you should see what they want.”

Jisung glanced between him and Minho. Skeptical. “For what?”

“I don’t know. But if you can make them stop being weirdos I’d be grateful.”

Jisung shrugged. “Alright.” He started to go- but stopped and asked. “You coming, hyung?”

Minho raised a hand. “I’ll be in soon.”

He continued to gaze Jeongin. His younger member nodded.

Jisung glanced between them, mouth opening, words on the tip of his tongue.

He withheld them.

He disappeared inside.

Exchanging another set of glances, Jeongin and Minho moved from the building and down the street again.

* * *

Changbin wandered through the carpeted hall on one of the many upper floors of their company building.

The AC churned. His coat remained unzipped. Some of the rooms were occupied, the main workspace on this particular floor had a crew of late night employees, sitting in the dim, fluorescent light glow.

The hallway he made his way along was peacefully still.

He opened the door at the farthest end, in the corner, brightly lit.

“This is where you were?”

“You got my S.O.S.”

Felix, like the message he had sent, was remarkably calm. Beanie and casual clothes, he leaned over his current work.

Changbin stepped inside.

A varied spread of little wood boxes and transparent, plastic containers littered the table top. Two different sized needle pliers, soft periwinkle and pink, were beside a broken, blue third one. Black cord was unraveled from its spool and cut in many pieces. Elastic string was evenly cut, the appropriate length for tight bracelets, and laid with consideration in prim rows off to the side. Three water bottles and an assortment of bright plastic-bagged snacks. On the back of the chair Felix sat in was a plaid red and black blanket.

His IPhone, propped on its side, played a foreign sitcom.

“How long have you been in here?” Changbin said as a laugh track echoed in the room.

Felix didn’t look up. “A while.” He rummaged through a tray of silver and black crimp beads. A thumb and finger removed and set aside each damaged one found. “Is the door closed?”

“It is now.” Changbin pulled it in. He walked over. “Who are you making these for?”

“Myself.”

Changbin noticed that none of the ‘bracelets’ were bracelets or even remotely completed. “...How’s it going?”

“Terrible.” Felix tossed aside the elastic string he held. “I don’t know why I’m trying. It’s not something I enjoy, especially when it doesn’t work out like this.”

Changbin poked at some of the displayed beads. “They’re not so bad. You did good.”

“Look me in the eye when you say that.”

Changbin did not. He questioned instead- “Why’d you ask me to come?”

Felix relaxed in his chair, hands folding on his stomach. “I wanted the company. How’s the dorm looking?”

“Fine?” Changbin sat on the edge of the table. “Normal. Seungmin and Hyunjin were being weird but that’s normal too.”

Felix wasn’t so convinced. He scrutinized Changbin. “So you saw that too. Hyunjin grabbed Jae-hyung the last time I was there and they vanished in hyung’s bedroom.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said. “They said they were going home.”

Felix paused.

“What?”

“They’re going home,” Changbin repeated.

“Is that even allowed?”

Felix asked though he knew the answer himself. A big fat _no._

Their company hadn’t allotted them time off despite being on hiatus from promotions.

They were gearing up for future showings on-broadcast and a comeback soon enough. Individual schedules aside, they’d begin their team training regime within the next week and a half.

Why his bandmates thought they’d get approved to swing home beforehand was a mystery to Felix.

He had accepted it, but it was still bittersweet.

How easily his friends could see their families when his own was an impossibly far-off plane ride away.

No no, he told himself again. It wasn’t allowed.

Still- for some reason-

Felix worried his lip.

“Can I talk to you, for a sec,” he asked of his hyung.

Changbin sat with open palms and indicated ‘ _yes’._

Relief.

It swept through Felix, a waterfall of warmth.

Second to Chan, there was Changbin.

Equally important. Equally knowing.

These recent difficulties were unlike those of the past, but they continued to burden him a lot.

How much was enough. How much was not enough.

They burdened to the point of restless stress.

He spilled it all to Changbin.

His worries. His doubts. His fears.

The confusion. The incredulity.

Helplessness.

Frustration.

What and why and how.

Changbin’s features didn’t change. His eyes, however, listened intent with great care.

When Felix wound down, Changbin took a second to think it through.

“...It’s not easy,” he said after. “I’m never sure of what to do myself.”

Felix put his head in his hand and rubbed his brow. “Then you know what’s going on. With hyung?”

Changbin faltered for a single moment. Defeat crept in his tone. "Yeah." In Felix's wake, his shoulders hung. 

“...Will you tell me?”

Changbin wavered.

Felix peeked at him through his fingers, frowning, expecting the ‘no’.

That was why it stunned him.

When Changbin met his eyes- and said again-

“Yeah.” 

* * *

“You’ve gotten better with your jokes,” was Minho’s response when Jeongin told him.

He grinned and patted Jeongin’s head.

“The New Year’s horoscope said to ‘dream big’ but this is more a fantasy. I’ll go with you in summer, with the others.”

Jeongin brushed aside his hand. “It’s not a joke. I’m asking seriously. Will you come with me?”

“No? Why would I?” Minho said, truly sincere. “It’s last minute. I have things to do here.”

“Things like what?”

“My business. Not yours.”

“And you can’t take two days from it? Is anything really going to happen in that time?”

Minho’s eyes narrowed. “What would you know about that?”

He leaned against the wall of the alley. Jeongin stood in front him.

Cardboard boxes, painted wooden crates, stacked uneven. Lengthy, taped wires from the building ran along the cement wall to the telephone posts on the street. Noise from the road drifted in and out their ears as night drew closer and the temperature began its incremental descent.

Jeongin didn’t take Minho’s accusatory tone to heart.

He had stopped taking a great deal of things the other boy said to heart days and days ago.

“I wasn’t talking about specific things. I meant more generally. Not much changes in two days or three days, does it?”

Minho gazed at him, lips pressed in a thin line. Unimpressed.

Jeongin tried again.

“Isn’t it better to go on a weekend like this now? Before we get busy?”

“It would be. If I trusted you.”

Jeongin pretended it didn’t burn. His next words left callous anyway. “Don’t worry. There aren’t any stairs out here I could drive you near.”

Minho didn’t answer to the ill-conceived joke. His arms remained tucked beneath his lower back, the line of his neck long and clear as he tilted his chin to study Jeongin astutely.

He was the farthest thing from a willing fool.

They were both aware.

Minho had stopped being gullible years ago. His perspective towards others had become more and more jaundiced from the controversies, from the scandals, from the world, from the people and the fans.

“Innie. Be honest.” Mouth flat. Voice flatter. Minho rested, tense as a snake on the verge of uncoiling. “Why are you asking me to do this?”

Jeongin assessed the reaction. He kept his own expression just as flat. “I wanted to be with you.”

“Why?”

“Does there need to be a reason?”

“If you’re involving me specifically, yes.”

“You’re my hyung. I’m having a difficult time. I want to take my mind off it, but I’d rather not do it alone. Anyone else would pry. I know you wouldn’t unless I asked. I might have asked Changbin-hyung, but Chan-hyung said he needed him here. That’s why you’re the one. If you’re not feeling fine, then okay. I’ll figure something else out. But I thought I should at least try. Would you refuse me for that?”

Minho gazed at him, lips bending down.

Conflicted.

Jeongin knew Minho wouldn’t reject the offer. He couldn’t. Not when an issue had been set before him. He wasn’t the sort to leave things alone, much less abandon a situation he saw he could help.

Discreetly or obtusely. Either way, Minho would act. His biggest flaw.

The best one Jeongin could exploit.

He watched the way his hyung clenched his jaw.

The way he ground his teeth.

The minute frustration crinkling the corner of his eyes.

Darkened heat coalesced in his irises as Minho detected the bait and trap.

“What are we doing if I go?”

This, at the least, Jeongin could be honest about.

“Playing in the snow. Eating. Sleeping. Hyung suggested we film some stuff we could use for fans later.”

“Manager-hyungs?”

“No.”

Minho’s face rippled in confusion.

Jeongin didn’t give it time to settle. He glanced at his phone and said, “There’s a bus that leaves in an hour. Another in an hour and forty-five.”

He explained how they’d have to switch to a second bus after the first at a rest stop. How the second bus wouldn’t arrive until two hours passed.

There would be enough time to check out the area and small shops, and more time to sit and grab dinner- talk plans for the weekend.

A three-day and two night mini-vacation. No costs would need to be covered by Minho.

Jeongin had funds- although he refused to say from who or where- and it would be enough.

Snowboarding or skiing lessons, it’d be included with their fare for the bed and rental of their chalet, their room service, their equipment, their lift passes when the daylight hit. No matter which option they chose for their buses, they wouldn’t reach their destination until late.

If there was a preference Minho wanted- whether they wanted to be at the dorms for an extra forty-five minutes and risk running into the others- that was his choice.

Jeongin was certain Minho would choose to leave sooner rather than later.

That thought was confirmed as Minho picked it moments after.

Jeongin pocketed his phone when all was said and done.

He surveyed his hyung once more.

Traces of annoyance lingered. Yet there was anticipation too.

Or was it apprehension?

Minho wasn’t fond of snow in strange places, but on a slope, with a friend, maybe he could come to like the idea.

Jeongin didn't let himself ponder too much. A vacation was a vacation. 

Playing his role.

That’s all Jeongin had to do, wasn’t it?

Play his role.

Watch and wait it out.

_‘Just be careful.'_

In the bathroom, running sink and shower water as to not be heard. Chan had smiled, clapping Jeongin on the back.

_‘You’re one of our most capable. That doesn’t mean it won’t be hard. Whatever happens. I trust you’._

Jeongin glanced at Minho as they ended their conversation and made for their dorm.

His hyung looked caught up in his thoughts.

Jeongin turned his eyes towards the ground, murmuring low.

“Whatever happens huh…” 

* * *

“You look any sadder I’ll think you wanna cry.”

“Maybe I do. Have you considered that?”

“I did, for a bit. I told myself you couldn’t be that pathetic.”

“I guess you were wrong.”

In the front seat of a parked car, the managers of Stray Kids sat. A bag of fast food burgers and fries were smushed in the cup holder. Their actual cups of soda were trapped in the hold of their laps.

“What do they call this?” Donggyu muttered. “The last meal before execution?”

“You’re being dramatic.” Jaehyun dug through the bag for a handful of fries. He took his time eating them. The radio played relaxing tunes through the car’s speakers.

Out their windows, vehicles and trunks on the main road passed them by. A flurry of lights and color and sound. Bizarrely cozy and untroubled. That, coupled with their greasy food, nearly lulled Donggyu into a false sense of serenity.

Until his earlier grievances returned.

After their conversation with Jeongin, they had argued.

Jaehyun had returned to the dorm and Donggyu had gone to the company.

He hadn’t done anything, however. Merely sat in the lobby. Then walked the halls. Then sat in the lobby again.

Hours later, once Donggyu had finally absorbed himself with the drama playing on the lobby’s television scream, Jaehyun had sent a text. He’d swung by the company and picked him up in a car- that wasn’t their employer’s- but one that belonged to his older sister.

 _“Can you even eat in here?”_ Donggyu had asked.

 _“She doesn’t have to know,”_ Jaehyun had mumbled, directly before spilling a packet of ketchup on the wheel.

So now they sat.

So here they sat.

“What’s the purpose. Explain to me what the hell you’re thinking,” Donggyu said. He removed the pickles from his burger and gave them to Jaehyun.

His friend added them beneath his bun. “I will,” he answered flatly. “But are you gonna listen?”

“I’ll listen if it makes sense.”

“You can’t shut your ears off.” “I can turn the song up.”

Jaehyun shifted in the driver’s seat, staring Donggyu down. “Try it and see.”

Donggyu slouched, sticking one knee against the dashboard. “You’re not as intimidating as you think with that mustard on your chin.”

“We let Minho and Jeongin go without a word,” Jaehyun proposed. “What do you think happens?”

“We get fired. I come to curse you.”

“We let Seungmin and Hyunjin go too. What do you think happens then?”

“We still get fired.” Donggyu’s expression was incredulous. He rolled his neck and focused on the friend he very much felt like strangling between his two hands. “What do those two have to do with anything?”

“They plan on joining.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Why would I bother to joke about anything going on?”

“They can’t _go_ ,” Donggyu sputtered in disbelief. “What?” He sputtered some more. “ _What?”_

“You can run to the dorms and try and stop ‘em, but I already said yes,” Jaehyun shared. “They might be gone.” His gaze fell onto his car clock. “There were three bus times.”

“Drive the car.”

“No.”

Donggyu tossed his half-eaten burger into their shared bag and went for the door.

Jaehyun locked it.

Donggyu manually pried the lock open with his finger.

Jaehyun locked it again. “You didn’t answer the question,” he told his mildly panicking comrade.

Donggyu turned from the door and slapped Jaehyun’s food from his hand. “ _Dude.”_

“Dude,” Jaehyun complained back. He picked the lettuce and pickles and burger from his pants. “That’s a freaking waste.”

“I’m going to end you.”

Jaehyun sighed, _loud._ He tossed his trashed food into their bag as well. Then he looked at his fellow manager- _importantly._ “What happens when we let four out of eight members go somewhere together with three of them photographers and two of them decent vloggers? I know math isn’t your strong suit, but what do we get from that?”

“A shit-ton of evidence they’re in a place they don’t belong. I passed my math just fine. Didn’t you fail geometry? Don't lecture me on logic when you have none.”

“Circles were never important. And neither is your ‘evidence’.” Jaehyun attempted to clean the mess made with a paltry napkin. “Content. We get _content._ What month is it?”

“January.” Donggyu threw some extra napkins at his friend’s head. “So what?”

“What’s in March?”

“Spring? Good weather?”

“An anniversary and promotions.”

“...I’m not following.”

“A gift to fans. A way to early promote once we get into the swing of things at the end of the month. A ‘Stray Kids Project’. They’ll work on something in the snow, the other four will work on something here. A song. An event. They’ll combine it when they return.”

Donggyu didn’t scoff.

He cursed.

“What kind of shitty reasoning is that? Who the hell would believe something like that? Do you hear what’s coming out of your mouth? Those kids have put together work in a day- why would they need _two months_ to prepare some sort of project for Stays?”

“Because it’s a ‘big’ project. Besides, 3racha are the ones staying behind. That’s a big plus. I trust they can meet with our Division- even JYP’s ass if they wanted- and convince him of their own content plan. I’ll put some faith in Bangchan. It was his idea.”

Donggyu did a double-take.

Jaehyun finished cleaning. He gathered their trash and crumpled it into one huge ball of mess. “He came to me last night. He’d been talking to Jeongin, putting ideas in his head. He asked me if I thought something like this was possible. Though he might’ve expected Felix to be the one to join them, I don’t think having those two go instead is that much of an issue.”

Donggyu stared.

Sincerely, disbelieving, _stared._

“Clarify. Clarify right now. What does sending these kids to a ski lodge accomplish? What’s the point?”

“I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“He’s told you them.”

“He has.”

“ _Well let me know_.”

“No can do.”

Jaehyun unlocked the car and swung his door open, sticking one leg out for a soon-to-be-made trip to the trash can along the curb.

“You’re a terrible liar. You’re also too nice. If things go south, it’d be better if you knew nothing.” He grinned, longtime affection settling in his eyes. “Besides, I’d rather you not lose your job.”

Surprise flitted on Donggyu’s face. His eyebrows creased. “Jae, listen to me…”

“He wants them to know. That’s why he doesn’t care if they go.”

“What does he want them to know?”

Jaehyun slid from the car, back to his manager-in-arms. “A few days ago, Changbin suspected Minho was suffering the effects of his concussion. You remember we visited the doctor’s.”

“...Yeah. What about it?”

“...The doctor asked me to stay back. The kids were already heading to the van.”

Donggyu frowned. “What did they tell you?”

“It wasn’t from the concussion.”

Donggyu wasn’t sure what to say.

He didn’t know anything. Anything useful. Anything-

Jaehyun faced him, grin gone, mouth grim and unamused.

“This is the decision Chan is making. For these important kids he chose on his own.”

“But it’s not the right one.”

“Is it? We won’t ever know.”

He closed the door and left Donggyu in silence. 

* * *

Hyunjin adjusted his hat for the third time, re-tucking and un-tucking his hair from beneath.

He hummed, in a gaily mood, rummaging in his backpack afterwards with cheer. "Are we excited?" he asked. "I am~" he answered.

They zoomed beneath an interpass with a blue-hanging sign, revealing their journey as they broke outside their city and ascended to the outskirts.

The cab was costly, that was true, and Seungmin had been irritated at the expense they would no doubt need to fork out, but this was the fastest way to reach the second stop Jaehyun-hyung had mentioned which led to the snow-capped mountain retreat. Hyunjin had researched the details in the few hour window they had.

Expensive was an understatement. Isolated was a compliment.

It was an optimal escape for those of a certain wealth that neither Seungmin nor Hyunjin possessed.

It had brought some real questions into play as to whether or not they should continue on this road, but Hyunjin wasn't a quitter. Seungmin had too much pride.

And Hyunjin had thrown his friend's suitcase into the trunk of the cab first so he didn't have much chance to second-guess either.

There was no reservation. There was no plan.

There were no funds in their wallets for enough use.

The oddity of such a location was more than enough to convince Seungmin something was truly going on.

Jisung hadn't even asked where they were going when he found them in their managers' room. Only wondered why they were at the window.

Was he aware of _anything_?

If Minho was going to tell anyone what was bugging him, surely Jisung would be the one.

Yet their same-aged friend had shared nothing. He hadn't gotten involved. If he knew, his loyalty to Minho was beyond admirable. It was annoying. And it would've saved them all the trouble if Jisung had revealed what was going on.

But no one had.

So here they were.

Belated, belated hindsight poked at Hyunjin's senses and questioned why he hadn't messaged Chan on their whereabouts. But the extent of their leader's involvement in everything was unknown, and Hyunjin honestly didn't care to have Chan follow them up the peak of a ski resort and descend on them with a wrath of fury were he to discover where they were.

Best to keep this quiet.

Trust in Jaehyun-hyung to not tell anyone where they were.

As far as the rest of their members would know, Hyunjin had went to visit his parents and taken Seungmin with him.

Easy.

Clear-cut.

Nothing questionable in the slightest.

"How do you think they paid for it?" Seungmin wondered. He rested an elbow on the side of the car door, gazing at the stretching sights of the highway and their city away and below that sat outside.

They were traveling fast enough that not many other cars passed by. Even wrapped in a hat and padded coat with boots and a scarf, Seungmin felt the chill slip in the cracks of the cab and touch against his skin. They should've brought heat packs.

If this was any indication of how cold it would be at their destination...

"No idea," Hyunjin answered. "One of them either saved since the time they were born or they visited a bank."

"Yeah. 'Visited'." Seungmin frowned. Not in any sort of unpleasant feeling, but in mystification. "It's stranger than I thought," he confessed. "What do you think we should do when we see them?"

"What do you mean?"

"Play along or tell them why we're there."

"Why would we ever tell them why we're there? That defeats the purpose."

Hyunjin checked the GPS on his phone.

They weren't too far off from where they needed to be. The bus they would all be taking was due to arrive within an hour. Their first bus had been missed because of packing issues. They didn't have the proper gear but Seungmin hadn't wanted to pay 'critical finances' on snow equipment, so they had made a pit stop at a sport's department store and rented two sets of skis and helmets. Then they'd bought an extra suitcase and gloves and overalls.

A short venture into a food joint had been next as they double-checked the information their manager had disclosed.

Their hyung had been adamant Jeongin hadn't given him a reason for the trip- but Seungmin and Hyunjin could catch a lie any distance, any time.

Also- that hyung wasn't much of a liar. More honest and blunt.

"Treat it like any vacation," Hyunjin advised after thinking some more. "That's the best way to go about it."

"And don't ask anything?" Seungmin posed, a little unconvinced.

"Ask, ask," Hyunjin encouraged. "Just not so obviously at first. Hyung is like one of those screeching cats that runs off when it doesn't want to be bothered. Innie is the kind that scratches your face and acts innocent afterwards. We proceed with caution."

Seungmin shook his head minutely. "You're way too into this."

"I'm into my members," Hyunjin retorted. "You should be too. The last thing we need is for one of them to push each other off a mountain peak."

"You said Innie had no intentions of doing that."

"I said he had no 'evil' intentions. The other stuff I'm not so sure about. Those times he forgot to get Jisung his coffee were totally on purpose."

The memory put something of a grin on Seungmin's face.

"Well we all knew that." 

* * *

Jisung wasn’t in a mood.

He was nearing one, though, and it was borderline pissed off.

His footfall was heavier than his friend’s on the carpeted floor as they traversed within the building.

“Why would you do that? I thought I lost them here.”

“I’m sorry,” Chan apologized for what must’ve been the sixteenth time.

Jisung scooted, putting distance between them, in a clear show of irritation. “I told you what they were,” he said loudly, “and you just stole them? Like that? I paid for those.”

“Jisung, I promise you, it wasn’t on purpose. I will pay you back. I’ll buy you whatever you want. I swear.”

Jisung stopped and turned around, drawing himself up, eyes flashing with poor-hidden hurt. “No, but I don’t _get_ it. I was with him earlier on. Why wouldn’t he tell me that’s where you guys were?”

Chan hefted his shoulders and dropped them, glancing about them a bit helplessly. “It didn’t come up? Did you ask him?”

“ _No_.” The shape to Jisung’s mouth wasn’t exactly a scowl, but it was coming close to an unpleasant, bothered grimace. “Why would I have to ask specifically about that?”

“How else would he know what happened?”

“Whatever.”

“No, really.”

Jisung turned on his heel. Chan gripped his elbow, gentle. He cautiously surveyed his friend.

“I understand you’re upset. I’m going to apologize again. But what is it, past that, that’s gotten you like this?”

The look in Jisung’s eyes spoke volumes.

Chan realized what it was nearly right away.

"Oh," he breathed.

“It’s meaningless,” Jisung told Chan, and his voice was so very resigned and unnerved. “My place is different than yours. What can we talk about that actually matters? Because I’m me, we can’t. Do you get what I mean?”

Chan did.

He also perceived what Jisung did not.

And that was something he had no place to speak about.

In the wake of the hushed hall, he released his hold on Jisung’s arm and said the other boy’s name. Jisung’s expression of fret locked onto Chan’s collected calm. “Remember something I said in America months and months ago? It was probably a year past.”

Jisung frowned. "No." 

Chan raised two fingers. “Each of us has our own second person.”

Jisung's face twisted- then showed some recognition.

Chan smiled, small. That was probably enough. 

"It doesn’t have to be obvious, but mostly, it is. There’s that second person we care inexplicably about. Honesty goes both ways. Opening up with the truth,” he didn’t emphasize the word yet it was clearly heard. “A new kind of trust forms. That’s… all I can say about that, really.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You do. You will.”

Chan sighed and gave his younger friend a one-armed hug.

“I feel like scum about your tickets. So seriously- tell me what you want tomorrow and we’ll go and get it.”

Jisung mumbled unintelligible. Chan listened to the jargon, unbothered, thinking on something else.

When they reached their destined door, they didn’t bother to knock.

Jisung pushed it in and the tail-end of a deep conversation came to an abrupt halt.

“-we have to see what it is-”

Changbin and Felix looked over, alarmed, from where they’d been hunched over Changbin’s phone.

Both swallowed and coughed.

Chan pretended they weren’t completely suspicious and greeted them with bright and curious eyes.

“Hyung said you might be here. You guys camping out?”

Felix put some distance between himself and Changbin. “It’s about to be us camping out all weekend,” he said.

“Why’s that?” Jisung wondered.

He surveyed the mess in the room.

Changbin, Felix and Chan simultaneously shared a look over his head.

One that was questioning, blaming, knowing, shocked and baffled that each opposite party knew, at once.

Felix, to his best effort, tried not to sound so confused as he addressed their youngest songwriter and rapper. “You went to the dorms, right? Wasn’t anyone there?”

Jisung, catching on to the strange atmosphere, glanced at each of them in turn. “Seungmin and Hyunjin. I was with Minho-hyung but he stuck around with Jeongin when I went in. Why?”

Felix seemed even more bewildered. “They didn’t...tell you anything?”

Jisung remained lost. “I mean… I asked them what they were lurking in the window for in the hyungs’ room, but they said they were keeping an eye out for Innie. What were you doing earlier in that picture he posted anyway? You looked insane.”

“That’s besides the point. They really didn’t say where they were going?”

“Were they supposed to? I went to shower and the dorm was empty except for Chan-hyung when I came out. They got dinner?”

Felix and Changbin swung their eyes directly towards their leader.

Chan scratched the back of his neck, looking at the ceiling and then looking at the floor. “Ye-ahh…” His English toggled between Korean as he divulged the proper information. “They won’t be back for a few days, most likely. Minho and Jeongin too. They went home, yeah?”

Felix made a face. “Why are you looking at me?”

“I dunno. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

“Bin-hyung told me.”

“Yeah, okay then,” Chan said. “So they went home.”

Changbin spoke at long last, an eyebrow quirking at the admission. “What for? Was there a specific reason?”

That was the thing about being in a room with three people who knew him the best. Lying was impossible. He was their best-read book.

Yet honesty was _not_ the best policy, even now.

Chan shook his head and laughed. “Well, if I’m being honest, I asked them for a favor. The timing happened to line up so I figured it’d work out.”

“What about the company?” Jisung questioned, still clearly thrown-off.

“That, I’ve got covered.”

Chan cleared his throat. He moved his attention to the assortment of beads and string and clamps and tools.

“You guys wanna chill or clean this up?” 

* * *

_Drifting._

He stood in shallow snow.

_Endless._

The water was deep.

_Sinking._

The snow welcomed his hands and knees with open arms.

There was no memory. No memory at all.

Frigid and numb.

Above him swam his friend. Reaching down. Reaching out. Their fingers stretched and spread.

His legs were in the ground. He lifted his arm.

The ocean roared.

In his ears was the drowning, whipping surge of a quake in the space, of a quake underfoot. Gone were the sands and gone was the snow.

The sky was black and waiting as he fell.

"Hyung."

Minho stirred. He gripped the hand that shook his leg and frowned. "Don't grab so hard, it hurts," he uttered.

He was shaken again.

Head ringing, vision bleary, he squinted up the face of his younger bandmate who sat at his side.

It took him a moment longer to recognize that the reason he was looking up was because he had slouched on the bench, head dropped on Jeongin's arm.

The wind howled around their protective covering in the dark.

Two lamposts lit the yawning road that bowed beneath the downward crest leading towards Seoul and the uphill climb into the forested pines and rising mountains in the distance to their right. Behind them were a smattering of local, pop-up shops. A parking lot, empty, and a convenience store- where they had grabbed cheap eggs and bread.

The bench they waited on was icy steel, covered by a glass and metal awning, open in the front with no insulation. Their suitcases, two backpacks and shared duffel, resided on the opposite end of the bench.

Minho hadn't been aware he'd fallen asleep. Couldn't recall when.

The last he remembered he had been inside, eating his egg with dressing and perusing over the brochures Jeongin had packed.

This kind of place was so far out of his budget, he hadn't imagined he could set foot in a place like it without consequences- or some sort of deal.

He remembered Jeongin hadn't been very talkative about his means of payment.

In fact, the younger boy had taken the time to ask Minho about all he wanted to do while there and his past vacations. His experience in colder weather sports.

His childhood in the snow.

The afternoons and evenings spent with his grandfather on sleds and hills. The small dinners. The nights spent cleaning dishes, sitting with his family, comfortable. Full of love.

He had gotten lost in thoughts then.

His mind had wandered off.

Jeongin must've brought him to the bench.

Minho gazed at the frost and wet condensation on Jeongin's zipper and his coat. He brushed it away. "Jeongin," he mumbled. He felt his teammate's eyes on the top of his head. Minho thought of the warmth of his home. He was sleepy. "This should be a good time. Will you forget about the rest?"

Jeongin was still for a long, long, moment. His arm faltered as it rose. His hand hesitated- before dropping onto Minho's freezing hair. "The bus will be here soon," he said. "You should sleep again when we get on it."

Minho's mind had already emptied.

He dozed off.

It was absolutely why, fifteen minutes later, Jeongin was the only one awake to see an iced-over cab roll to a stop before them.

And why there was no one to hear him rightfully swear when he saw who climbed out of it.

Hyunjin yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Thaaat was such a long ride. Ahh!" He held his lower back. "I've got a cramp!"

Seungmin struggled to yank their luggage out the trunk. "Can you _help_?"

Hyunjin scratched his leg instead. He waved at Jeongin, English and Korean breaking forth.

"Innie! _Wow!_ Long time no see. _Did you miss me?_ "

Because Minho was passed out on his arm, Jeongin didn't stand up and kick him. He did yell however- unabashedly loud. " _What do you think you're doing here!"_

"Ha! I could ask you the same." Hyunjin ignored Seungmin breaking his back over their last suitcase in the cab, going to Jeongin and fondly patting his head. He peered at Minho curious. "You didn't do anything to him, did you?"

"Hyunjin. Hyung," Jeongin stated, eyes wide and growing wider. "What. Are you _doing?_ "

Hyunjin shrugged. "I wanted to ski."

If looks could kill, Hyunjin wouldn't be alive.

"I'm sensing some hostility," he recognized placidly. "I'm gonna go pay for the ride. Say 'hi' to Seungmin."

Seungmin hauled two armfuls of baggage on over to the bench, strained, out of breath, and smiling. "I'm gonna end him."

"Be my guest," Jeongin encouraged coldly. He shook his head. Was he seeing things? Had he gone mad? Could heavy cold and snow cause illusions? "Please tell me you guys aren't real."

"I can't," Seungmin said. His gaze fell to Minho. He left their baggage on the ground and approached in mild worry. "He okay?"

"He's sleeping."

Jeongin shook his head once more. "I don't understand."

"Jae-hyung let it slip where you guys were headed. Hyunjin said it was no fair- that we should tag along. The expenses were paid for."

"For _two_."

"We brought our own gear," Seungmin motioned towards their packed skis and helmet bags.

Now Jeongin truly didn't understand. Something like betrayal gripped at his chest. Did Chan plan for this too?

His fingers itched to grab his phone and send the private texts to them both.

What was this? Why was this?

Hadn't they said they trusted him?

He worked his mouth for what felt like an eternity.

All the while, Hyunjin bid their cab farewell and Seungmin knelt, brushing the snow off Minho's pants and tucking them better inside his shoes. "Why is he wearing sneakers? Didn't he bring boots?"

"He said he wouldn't put them on until we got there," Jeongin answered on auto. His eyebrows furrowed. "Hyung." He had to know. "Who else was told?"

"That you're here?" Seungmin confirmed. "No one. They think we all went home."

"I don't get it."

"Which part?"

"You followed us because hyung told you to?"

"I followed you because Hyunjin wanted to."

Seungmin seemed to really take stock of Jeongin's face for the first time since arrival. His tone was almost, but not quite, apologetic.

"I guess you wanted it to be something special for you and hyung."

"Yeah."

"That's life," Hyunjin chimed in, joining the triage. "Full of disappointments."

Jeongin glowered. "Right now, you're the biggest one."

The reaction was expected. Hyunjin would've more surprised if Jeongin had welcomed them with cheer.

Their cab was gone and what was done was done.

He guessed they could call another one to take them back home or wait out the _next_ next bus if their maknae was so opposed, but that was something he didn't want to bother with- and he was sure Seungmin was the same.

The ride out of Seoul had been exhausting. A bus would've been longer. No wonder Minho was out.

It was only a shame because Hyunjin had wanted to see his hyung's immediate reaction to their presence.

Ah well.

In due time.

He helped Seungmin properly align their suitcases and bags.

They split a bag of banana snacks taken from Jeongin's locker way back at the dorm and passed the minutes arguing over the situation and complaining about the cold.

The real crisis happened during the heated discussion on being forced to share what would probably be a cramped bathroom and the tiniest room in the resort, as Hyunjin flailed his arms, Seungmin grabbed one corner of the bag of chips, and Jeongin grabbed the other.

When the chips exploded on Minho's face- there was nothing but terror.

Suitably, Minho woke. 

* * *

The headlights of the second bus crested from downhill, flooding the barren road. The scene the weary driver and the three other passengers came across was nothing short of a screaming spectacle.

Four boys, one of them long-limbed, face-down, unmoving in the snow. Another was by an overturned array of colored suitcases and bags, ducking for shelter, texting on his phone.

The last two were the ones hooting and yelling, flinging, kicking snow and running circles.

The driver studied the scene. She contemplated shutting the door.

Then the boy she thought was dead sprung up from his wintry bed, noticing her- and by extension- the bus.

"Ya!" he hollered towards his friends. "Quit messing around, pabos! We gotta go!"

One of the boys stopped running, movements still- then lethal.

At the near speed of sound, a snowball whipped through the air and pegged the tall boy's face.

He went down.

The three other boys clapped. 

* * *

"I hate roadtrips with you guys," Hyunjin commented a good ten minutes later from the rear of the bus.

Minho sat beside him. Jeongin and Seungmin shared the pair of seats adjacent.

The heater thrummed fierce and warm against the back of their soaked and chilled calves.

Their luggage had been stored in the chamber beneath the bus with the rest of the passengers'. Seungmin had been mindful of pulling two small blankets from his suitcase, one for each pair, as the final leg of their journey was a two-hour ride into the soaring peaks and icy pines.

"No one told you to come," Minho said. He brushed the snow off Hyunjin's lashes.

It had been established the hyungs, to Jeongin and Hyunjin's knowledge, knew, and further established that Seungmin and Hyunjin were offering nothing in the way of expenses except extra baggage.

A fever dream.

That was what the whole experience was turning out to be.

Minho had long since learned to accept things as they would come. His eyes traveled to Jeongin, the younger who was frowning heavily at his phone.

He doubted they felt the same.

Hyunjin snuggled into Minho's side. "Hold me, I'm cold."

Minho got a whiff of his skin and hair. "You smell like dirt," he deadpanned.

"So do you," Hyunjin retorted. "Whose fault is that?" "Yours."

"Sorry, but I really have to know," Seungmin interjected. He leaned over Jeongin in order to search Minho's face.

Minho hated it.

"What?" he said.

Seungmin raised a pamphlet he had snatched from Jeongin's bag earlier on. The photo of the chalet rose mightily through the great boughs of winter-laden trees. "Have you even heard of this place before?"

Minho had. He didn't say it aloud. He did, however, be truthful to the question. "I've seen places like it. This one is new."

Seungmin lowered the pamphlet.

Hyunjin shuffled, shifting to get comfortable in his seat. "I've seen places like it too. Online."

"Oh? We're similar then," Minho went back to joking.

He ignored the contemplative weight in Seungmin's eyes. 

* * *

_|Hyung_

_|this is better_

_|how_

_|you can blame me if it goes wrong_

_|...do you want me to tell them_

_|that.._. 

* * *

Night blanketed the hills in gleaming dark.

They arrived in a plume of exhaust fumes and calm hissing as the doors bent inward and opened. For a bus so worn and aged, the sight that greeted them was anything but.

The mountain rose up. A multitude of chalets had been built into the side of the forested hill, wooden, bright and brown with broad glass windows and banisters and rails swept in winter. Stone chimneys and snow-swept staircases, flat and wide.

On the hill-face, they counted twelve. Behind it, they didn't know how many more existed.

The driver didn't unload their suitcases from beneath the bus compartment. Well-dressed employees in green and black uniforms and cotton, steward hats did.

In heels.

Minho hastened to help. Seungmin joined him.

Hyunjin and Jeongin gawked at the vastness of their 'lodge'.

"I'm not paying you back for this, am I?" Hyunjin asked.

Not quite paying attention, Jeongin responded, "I'm... not sure. Maybe he'll make us after all."

Hyunjin glanced over, dumbfounded. "Who's he?"

Jeongin tore his gaze from the mountain. He hastily cleared his throat. "I meant me."

Hyunjin looked at him, skeptic. "Maybe 'me' will make us after all?"

Jeongin sheepishly smiled. "It's late. I'm tired, sorry."

Hyunjin didn't get the chance to probe his bandmate further. In what felt like a rapid succession of events, they were guided up the ice-slicked paths to the fifth chalet on a hill and checked in.

Crimson, ornate carpets. Wood paneling. Full hearths. Faux plants and sofas and tables, wide-screen monitors in the lobby and the lounge. Adults with alcohol and unconcerned airs relaxed in the main area. Some spoke animatedly. Others appeared as though they were catching up on fond memories.

It was utterly off-putting. They had stepped into some sort of other world.

Even more off-putting was the assuredness Minho showed.

The manner he gathered them to the reception desk, handing over Jeongin's credentials and ID and asking a slew of questions confirming rules and facets and layouts of the 'resort' none of them would've possibly otherwise known. By the time Minho and the employees at reception finished, half the pay was delivered via Jeongin's card, and all that was left was to approve their room keys- Hyunjin and Seungmin were doing more than gaping.

They were gossiping three feet back.

"What the hell?"

"This was Jeongin's trip, wasn't it?"

"Jeongin doesn't even look like he knows what's going on."

"Why wouldn't he? It doesn't add up-"

"I'm standing right here," Jeongin loudly interrupted.

They jumped and spun around.

Jeongin didn't get to say much more. He was beckoned to the front desk by Minho who explained that he'd need to sign a few papers.

Then, looking between Hyunjin and Seungmin, Minho said, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Watch the bags."

Unsure of the swift change in pace, Hyunjin did as told, bringing all that he could roll closer to the desk to oversee what Jeongin was signing.

Seungmin, however, watched as Minho departed for one of the long halls to their left.

He was certain none of them had asked where the bathroom was, yet Minho undeniably entered an unlabeled door with confidence and stepped within.

Ten minutes passed.

Jeongin and Hyunjin were listening carefully to the instructions and times given by the employees on the variety of lessons, meals and rentals they offered.

In the middle of an explanation on how the lift passes worked during different hours, Seungmin went after Minho.

* * *

Minho gargled in the sink, spitting bile.

Calming music played in the speakers built into the wall.

The stalls were mercifully empty.

The painting of deer on frost blue and white wallpaper was tacky for a place so full of money. Or maybe it was the sort of establishment, like the others he'd known, that charged more than its worth.

He threw water in his mouth and spat it out again.

He wiped his mouth, sighing.

He'd been fine on the bus ride. Tired, but fine.

Was it the exertion of carrying their bags up the steep slope? Was it the reminder? The _nausea_ of having been in the same kind of place of before?

The pictures and the thoughts of coming had invoked nothing in the hours prior to their arrival. So maybe that wasn't it. Maybe it really had been the physical work.

He frowned into the mirror.

He wiped his nose and washed his face.

"Hyung."

Minho jerked from the sink.

He spun.

Seungmin watched him from the doorway. Still.

Minho turned off the sink and stuffed his dirtied tissues into his pocket. Grimaced- then took them out and dumped them in the trash. He brushed his hair lightly. "What are you looking at?" he said a moment after.

Seungmin's expression could not be read. "You're ill?"

"No." Minho pointed to his head. "Motion sickness. It passed."

He brushed by his bandmate. "Don't you wanna see our room?"

Seungmin reached for him.

"Wait."

Too slow.

Minho was gone. 

* * *

The room was not a room.

It was a full-on suite.

Minho said nothing of his vomiting spree and Seungmin didn't either.

Seungmin double-checked their room key and the number on it dubiously instead. "This can't be right."

"Did you lead us down the wrong hall?" Hyunjin asked Minho.

Minho lifted his brows, amused. "You would know if I did."

Seungmin poked past Hyunjin, who was blocking the door, and slowly spun around. "No. This..."

The high-rise ceilings, the arched beams of wood, stone walls and faux fireplace beside a white, fake-fur rug. The beds they presumed were twins were two separate kings. Landscape paintings on the walls, lanterns on the nightstands, a dripping chandelier above. The door to the two bathrooms were open.

Even from here, they could all see how massive it was.

"Uhm."

All eyes went to Jeongin expectantly.

"What is this?" Hyunjin said.

Jeongin wasn't sure he was doing so great at pretending he knew what was going on anymore. Honestly, his face had stopped hiding its awe as soon as their feet had hit the snow and the full depth of the chalets had made themselves known.

It was _rich_.

There wasn't another word for it.

They were walking and breathing in a sort of money they weren't so accustomed to face-to-face.

Yet, bizarrely, they appeared to fit right in.

Jeongin wondered how many of the residents they passed had assumed they were a pack of careless youth passing the time because they could.

"Whose bank did you visit?" Minho joked. Jeongin looked at him. There was something odd on his hyung's face, but it vanished as he pushed Hyunjin in the back, lightly forcing them both inside.

Jeongin closed the door behind them.

All of them looked around again.

"Well." Seungmin met their gazes. "We can't complain about lack of space anymore."

As if a spell had been broken, they all went into motion.

Seungmin went to the large window wall and parted the curtains to see the view beyond. The slopes and black peaks coated in white stood tall. He could see the orange lights of the nearby chalets- glowing, quiet hearths across the snow.

Not for the first time, Seungmin wondered again how he'd found himself here.

Like this.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Hyunjin and Minho had rolled up the fake-fur rug and set it out of sight by a bookshelf of well-kept novels and directories. Then they began jumping on the mattresses, from one to the other, testing the durability.

It lasted two minutes before they tripped over the sheets and hit the floor.

Seungmin left them, stepping over their bodies, as he went to join Jeongin in exploring one of the bathroom's he'd chosen.

Glass and marble and smooth tile.

Seungmin ran a hand over the sink.

Jeongin stepped back from the shower, clearly still blown away.

That's when Seungmin was certain. He shook his head, taking in Jeongin's expression. "You had no idea about this."

Jeongin hesitated.

He glanced, worriedly, towards the door.

Then he shook his head in return.

In the main room, Minho went through his suitcase.

Hyunjin had barreled his way into the second bathroom to take a bath and Jeongin and Seungmin had- Minho checked- apparently locked themselves in the first. He lifted his brows but didn't question it.

He'd check out the bathroom for himself later.

He had gone in the lobby's restroom earlier on- vomiting aside- and now his stomach curdled in renewed hunger.

The bedroom itself was incredibly warm. He changed into comfortable pajamas and wandered the space.

This... wasn't so unfamiliar.

He guessed the view from the window of places like this were the same.

Minho gazed down at the darkened hills. He let the curtain fall.

He went to the nightstand in the middle of the wall between their beds and removed the menu for room service from its bottom drawer where he knew it'd be.

Nearly thirty minutes later, Hyunjin left the bathroom, satisfied and clean. Spices and familiar scents struck his nose. He blinked.

Jeongin and Sengmin were nowhere to be seen.

Minho was upside down on the bed nearest to the door, glasses on, reading one of the books from the shelves.

An impressive spread of food in covered containers and plastic-sealed was on a wide, square table, low to the floor. Several cushions and a blanket had been added although they weren't needed. The food, was by far, the most recognizable thing on their trip so far.

"It's fancy but it's not," he said.

"That's right," Minho agreed. He closed the book and rolled from the bed. He wiggled close to the table. "This kind of stuff is better for late night isn't it?"

"Where did the table come from?"

"They store it in the closet."

Hyunjin joined his friend, sitting cross-legged, curious. "How did you know that?"

Minho didn't exactly meet his eye as he answered. "It's usually kept there with extras. The closet will have whatever you need if you're unable to find it, I'm sure. Feel free to help yourself when you'd like, and let me know if there's anything you can't reach."

The last few sentences threw Hyunjin for a loop. He stared at Minho, baffled, half-laughing. "What's with the super formal language all of a sudden? Do they keep lost manners in the closet too?"

The taunt broke Minho from whatever trance he had fallen in.

He straightened, ears reddening. "Be quiet."

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. His attention fell on their meal as he truly took it in. “Who paid?”

A familiar wallet was tossed over the spread of food and drinks and ricocheted off his leg.

Minho smugly grinned. “It was suuuper considerate of you. Thanks.”

Hyunjin caught, fumbled and dropped it in quick succession, looking at the older boy like a deer in headlights.

Minho snorted. “I’m kidding.” He started to take the coverings off their meal. “Look after your stuff. Next time it might not be a nice guy who picks it up.”

Hyunjin scoffed. “Nice? Show me where that person is.”

They settled in, peaceful, and organized their things while they waited. When they finished and there was nothing left to do, they lounged.

Minho scooted himself closer, and under Hyunjin’s uncaring gaze, flopped himself across his younger friend’s lap. Words sat heavy in his mouth.

Unspoken.

Thoughts- they had them.

On parallel, different tracks, the question between them, the same.

**_What do I do? I haven’t figured it out._**

Minho pressed his fingers into the grains of the wood floor. Hyunjin met them. Grabbed them. Pulled and bent and scratched over his smaller hand with focused absence. The same.

It sometimes was between them.

The idle echo in their heads.

**_What should I do?_ **

_About hyung?_

_About everyone?_

**_This isn’t it._**

Hyunjin gripped his hand and held it. “Hyung, you’re my favorite.”

Minho gazed at their woven fingers, knuckles over knuckles. “Of course I am.”

“That’s why I don’t bother to know what’s in your head.”

Minho touched his forehead to their hands. Nudging. “Dissing me, for what?”

Hyunjin bumped him in the noggin. “Not a diss. A compliment.”

Minho snorted.

He kept his eyes to the ground.

“I’ll pretend to believe you.”

Hyunjin returned his snort. “I’m saying you’re fine. You are who you are. That’s fine.”

“Mmmn.”

“Take me seriously,” admonished Hyunjin without a rise or gripe in his tone. “Do what you want. Be what you want.” He paused. “But. I think.”

For a moment, he struggled for the right words.

Minho took the opportunity to speak. “I’m already that, you know,” he reminded his friend. “I’m what I want to be. The only thing there’s room for is improvement.”

“...And maybe a lie or two.”

Minho paused.

Hyunjin detangled his hand from Minho’s.

Minho rolled and squinted up at him in accusation. “What?”

“What?” Hyunjin said back, clueless as could be.

“What lying?”

“No lying.”

“...What?”

Hyunjin tore his gaze from his hyung to look at their rapidly cooling meal. He cracked a yawn and made a poor attempt to swallow it down. “I’m talking about this,” he intoned. “This random-ass trip. Innie said he was going home. Hyungs said you were making good on the management offer and going too.” His lips tugged up. “It’s a way from Gimpo. Why try and hide it?”

“We didn’t do a good job if you two managed to find out.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t hard. So what was the reason?”

“The reason?” In his lap, Minho shrugged, half-hearted. “Do we need one when it comes to taking a break?”

Hyunjin glanced from the table to his hyung. “Couldn’t you have said you were breaking here for stress relief?”

“Out of the blue? Like this? I wouldn’t be allowed.” Minho’s expression remained pinched, yet there was no ill-will in his voice as he indicated towards his forehead. “A liability or something.”

Hyunjin brushed his older friend’s bangs aside, delicately, peering at the mottled green and brown- the harsh streak of paling white. “It’s almost healed,” he noted.

“I heal quickly.”

“Yeah. You do. It’s weird.”

“It’s a good thing. I was raised strong,” Minho said proudly.

A feather-touch. Hyunjin pressed his fingers to the bruise. “Weren’t you raised kindly?” he said. “Weren’t there many good things and good friends? Maybe that's why, hyung.”

“Why what?”

Hyunjin’s eyes were dark and clear, steadfast as he answered. “Why you don’t cry.”

Minho looked at him.

 _Looked_ at him.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“Don’t be stupid. Even happy people cry. There’s just no reason for me to. Most of the time, anyway.”

He quieted. Thinking.

“You made this conversation deep for no reason.”

He shuffled out of Hyunjin’s lap and sat, rolling his neck.

Hyunjin tilted his head- only a bit- watching. “It wasn’t deep. I could have a deep one with you now, if you want.”

“About what?”

“The universe.”

“No, that’s not important,” Minho dismissed.

“Alright.”

Minho’s attention fell on the bathroom door, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s taking them so long? _Hey!”_ he called. “What have you been doing!”

The sink water suddenly turned off.

The door opened.

Jeongin exited, newly showered and dressed. A hair towel hung around his shoulders, catching off his dripping neck. His face was content.

“Sorry, we got busy.”

Hyunjin stared.

Minho lifted one brow- then the other. “Doing what?”

“Discussing a drama.” Jeongin moved to join them easily, uncaring of their gazes. He tousled his hair once, thoroughly, and tossed the towel aside. It landed halfway off the bed closest to the wall and window.

“Yup,” said Hyunjin, seeing it.

“That’s your bed and Seungmin’s,” Minho informed Jeongin.

Jeongin rolled his eyes and shook his head, more fixated on the table and their food. “Is it cold?”

“With the years you took to get out the shower, yes,” Minho replied.

“It was barely five minutes.”

“I’m worried you can’t count. Did you hit your head too?”

“If I hurt myself, I would be sure to let everyone know,” Jeongin smiled. He leaned and grabbed four sets of chopsticks from center table, not at all fazed by the caught-off-guard expression his hyung wore. Over his shoulder, he glanced towards the bathroom. “Hurry! We’ll start without you!”

"Don't rush me," Seungmin retorted, even as he hustled to join them. He hadn't showered.

They organized themselves around the table.

The seafood pancakes and rice were uncovered alongside the wraps and kimchi. Why they had invested in three massive bowls of black bean noodles and two boxes of mixed chicken was beyond them.

Minho must've ordered with his eyes.

Seungmin insisted on taking a photo and then Hyunjin did too, and there was a scuffle as Minho seized Jeongin's leg to stop him from retrieving Hyunjin's GoPro from his bag.

_"It's annoying, the food's already frozen, let's eat-!"_

They had, reluctantly, agreed.

It didn't stop Seungmin from snapping a few pictures on his phone or Minho from trying to strangle him. 

“O-kay! Let’s enjoy our illegal trip,” Hyunjin enthused, digging in.

“It’s not illegal,” said Seungmin.

”Yes it is,” said Jeongin.

Seungmin opened the foil of their fried chicken. “It’s not illegal,” he repeated. “It’s just not what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“What do you think hyung will do when he finds out?” Hyunjin questioned affably.

“Honestly I wouldn’t put it past any of them to show up at the door,” Seungmin mused.

“Don’t ruin our appetites with such ominous words,” Minho said to them all. “Chan-hyung might really come to the window.”

Unbidden, all four glanced in the window’s direction. The view outside was- mercifully- empty of any staring human being.

“He won’t find us,” Jeongin assured them. His eyes traveled to his bowl, face content. “This is our secret.”

“Good. Sounds good,” Hyunjin complimented. “As expected of our ‘hyung’. We’ll follow you.”

“Don’t include me,” Seungmin refuted. “I want to be able to escape clean when this backfires.”

Hyunjin laughed through his noodles, fake and loud. “You think I’d let you? Your fate was sealed the second you touched your suitcase.”

“I didn’t touch it. You put it in my hand.”

“Packing for you took some work.”

Seungmin started clapping- and there was nothing more sarcastic, even as he smiled pure. “Wow. I’m really always so amazed with you.”

They began to banter.

Jeongin listened, amused.

Minho listened, chest tightening, mind emptying.

Jeongin's jabs hadn't gone unnoticed. He had been doing it the entire evening, whenever he could.

With Hyunjin and Seungmin at their sides, how could he begin to confront their youngest?

Sharp as Jeongin's words were, they came without malice.

But maybe it was a double-edged sword. Off-putting as the Seungmin and Hyunjin's arrival had been, it would now effectively keep Jeongin and his true intentions at bay. Wouldn't it?

This was more a good thing than a bad one. And he could enjoy it.

He _could._

Minho cleared his throat. It ached and itched but no different than any common cold or speck of dust would make it.

The argument over their trip had derailed into an old disagreement on favors that had never been repaid. For some reason, Seungmin's list of I.O.U's was uncannily lengthy. Lost bets he always paid back. Anything else went out the window.

Minho poked at his noodles.

They were always loud. Being around them brought warmth.

He poked at his noodles harder.

Every time. The small things. The simple things. He sought to keep them near. It was too embarrassing to say aloud.

"You guys," he finally said. They paused- as though they had been waiting for him to join. He eyed them, half-grinning. "Can't you be quiet and enjoy the food? You're noisy and it's irritating."

Jeongin's eyes brightened. "Were we bothering you?"

"Our bad," Seungmin said with zero remorse. 

Hyunjin smiled, pointing his chopsticks at Minho's mouth. "Oi, ahjussi. Can't you eat proper? You've got sauce all on your chin."

Minho's aim was impeccable. His bottle of juice hit Hyunjin perfectly in the crook of his right elbow.

Hyunjin's arm bowed. His chopsticks fell to the floor. He clutched his elbow with all the dramatics of someone who had been struck by a swinging hammer. He threatened Minho weakly. "Don't forget who you're sharing a bed with. Sleep with one eye open."

Minho took it in stride, politely eating his noodles. "The ground is always an option for you. I don't mind burying you in it."

Hyunjin bowed even more politely. "Why do you say such terrifying things." 

* * *

Hours later, as midnight hit, they crawled into bed.

Minho first. Hyunjin second. They both had a habit of sleeping in earlier.

Seungmin brushed his teeth in the bathroom.

Jeongin finally set his phone on the nightstand beside his bed, alarm set for seven in the morning.

After watching videos, playing games alone and together and talking, they had decided to take the eleven a.m. ski classes and explore the bunny hills for snowboarding when they opened at nine. They might as well get the most out of their lift passes while they could, and it'd be a shame to waste the money Seungmin and Hyunjin had ended up spending on their own rental gear.

The afternoon they hadn't decided on yet, as there were many things to do at the actual resort. Minho didn't care for over-planning and Jeongin had determined to stick around the older boy-

Which by extension meant Seungmin and Hyunjin largely would too- though they often lined outlined their days with a sense of order.

Jeongin settled under the ridiculously soft duvet of his bed. It'd been hard getting to sleep in the days before. It'd been harder to focus and to keep his mind straight. Yet here, he felt none of the trepidation. Less of the anxiety.

Whether it was because he was removed from the dorm and the depths of the city, or because Minho was _here_ , easy to hold onto and be near, he didn't know.

Tangling thoughts were overcome by soft exhaustion.

Jaehyun had messaged earlier on. Chan had texted an hour before, asking him to have good dreams and send pictures the next day.

The words they had sent were ones Jeongin could properly mull over in the morning.

One day at a time. That was the best way to tackle the weekend and tackle their problems.

He had been trying for so long. It was okay to rest. 

_It's okay to rest._

He'd hated seeing Hyunjin and Seungmin. But so focused on his goal, he had forgotten how much easier things felt when he didn't have to shoulder them alone.

If it was Hyunjin...

If it was Seungmin...

In the bathroom, water rushing, they had talked.

Would Seungmin share with Hyunjin?

Jeongin wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of a lot lately. He was just better than the rest at pretending.

His gaze went to the other bed. No matter the fuss, his hyungs slept well together, nearly hidden beneath their sheets. Jeongin could only see the back of Hyunjin's head.

Eyes heavy, oddly comforted, Jeongin let his body sink into the calling depths of rest.

Seungmin hit the lights when he left the bathroom. He glanced at Jeongin sleeping, then went to the bed his other teammates laid in.

In the plunging darkness, the glow of their dimmed phones shone bright across their faces. Backs turned to their youngest, the two were awake, messing around on Kart Rider. Had they ever even truly been asleep?

Minho had relaxed in Hyunjin's arms, glancing between his screen and his fellow dancer's that hovered slightly over his own. They weren't so much as focused on winning or making new scores as they were with collecting items and going off-road.

"Will you guys be able to get up tomorrow?" Seungmin asked.

"If you drag me out of bed, then yes," Hyunjin replied. "Grab my foot gently when you do."

"I'll wake you," Minho offered. "No thanks. You might not be in the bed. You could be under it by the time the sun comes."

"When have I ever woken under the bed?"

"You wouldn't know at the dorms- there's not enough space for you to roll under when you sleep."

"I was thinking of exploring," Seungmin chimed in. "If either of guys get up earlier than six, we can do that. The sunrise must look gorgeous from the top."

Hyunjin hummed. There was more of a chance he would join Seungmin than Minho, as Seungmin had noticed his friend taking care to pack his real camera into his suitcase beneath the extensive layers of socks.

Seeing how preoccupied the two were, and feeling the tug of tiredness himself, Seungmin bid them goodnight.

Not long after, Minho grew bored and shut off the game and his phone screen. Hyunjin spent an extra forty minutes scrolling in Instagram and Tik Tok, both of which Minho viewed with minor- _minor_ \- judgement and a blank expression of secondhand embarrassment.

Noticing freakishly late, Hyunjin snickered and searched for Tik Toks on aesthetic artwork and coffee-making instead.

Minho didn't say 'thanks' but his attention refocused and he started scrolling through the feed and clicking on videos of interest.

Hyunjin noted the sorts his hyung liked and the ones he spent multiple times viewing.

Interesting, as usual.

That's how it felt whenever he learned more about his teammate- more about the friend he wasn't ashamed he cared about. He didn't have to say it, although he often did. His actions were louder than words and Minho's were too. So when Minho exited from Tik Tok and blackened his screen for him, Hyunjin didn't complain.

He dropped his phone somewhere in front of the older boy and said, "Wanna sleep?"

"I thought we could look at the wall for a few hours."

"Okay," Hyunjin agreed. He spooned himself like an octopus around his hyung.

Minho didn't throw him off at first. He waited until five minutes had passed before unleashing a spastic jerk and tossing him off.

Hyunjin re-clung.

Minho fended him off once more and they engaged in a minor back-and-forth before irritating Hyunjin’s persistence won.

Defeated, Minho laid on his side, trapped in the other boy’s legs firmly. “It’s going to get hot,” he complained.

“When it does, I’ll get off,” Hyunjin told him.

Quiet settled.

They listened to the sounds of Seungmin and Jeongin shuffling, tucking further into sleep. Beyond their room was the whistling wind. The tapping of branches on glass. The echoes of night owls in the branches.

Holding Minho was like holding a stuffed animal full of stones. Squishy and built.

How long had passed.

He stopped keeping track.

"It bothers me. What you said."

Hyunjin startled, pulled from the tar of dreams he'd been calmly floating on top of. Oh god. Had he spoken that thought aloud?

"What?" he whispered.

"What you said before," Minho murmured. "I was thinking about it. It bothers me."

The boy in his arms was being entirely too vague for Hyunjin's sleep-addled mind to comprehend. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I cry."

Hyunjin paused.

His face did tricks and turns.

What a weird admission. More random than usual.

Minho shook his head. "You don't get it. When have you seen me do it?"

"Was I supposed to?"

"No. You can't."

"Then I haven't."

Minho sounded genuinely bewildered. "It's happiness. You don't know?"

Hyunjin listened, confused, by the sudden thread of conversation.

"Good things don't matter," Minho wanted him to know. 

"They do," Hyunjin said. "Of course they do."

"If they don't last, what's the point?"

Hyunjin frowned. "Hyung?"

"Put them in the fridge."

Apperception.

Hyunjin rapidly blinked. He stopped talking.

Minho kept on in his place. "In the back. Don't eat the moon."

A one-sided conversation was held on a plethora of nonsensical meals and brief bursts of excited exclamations.

Hyunjin snorted softly. He got elbowed in the nose for it.

Here he was thinking Minho had been trying to say something important.

He rolled away from his friend and stretched himself out. Over-thinking had never gotten him anywhere except down dead-ends.

He rolled back over.

He stopped.

He touched Minho's face.

Slipping, sliding, breaking, the tears on his fingers were cold.

* * *

_Sinking._

_Slipping._

_Sliding._

_“Why did we come out here in the snow?”_

_His footsteps marked the unwalked road. Carefully, one-by-one, he set them down before him, deep and slow._

_His friend was at his side, idly walking through. “Why not ask when we left?”_

_Minho lost his balance. Seojun steadied him with ease._

_He was taller than most twelve-year olds. Then again, all of Minho’s friends were._

_“I wasn’t curious before,” Minho told him._

_Seojun frowned. “I could’ve been taking you somewhere dangerous. You should’ve said it earlier and I would’ve told you.”_

_Minho looked around them, not particularly concerned. “If you knew where we were going, you would’ve let me know. I don’t mind if there’s not a place. I just want to know why.”_

_Seojun looked at Minho as though he were a marvel. One he couldn’t quite understand. Grateful and embarrassed._

_The trees were guardians around them._

_Seojun walked. Minho followed._

_They remained, one step behind, one step ahead, of the other._

_“I didn’t want to be home,” Seojun said after a long while. “I didn’t want to be in anyone’s home. I think better outside.”_

_“Ahh.” Minho walked just a little faster, nodding, smiling bright. He nudged his friend with an arm. “I understand.”_

_"Understand what?"_

_Minho gripped Seojun by the sleeve and pulled himself forward so that they were side-by-side._

_"This. Right?"_

* * *

Jisung shuddered and sneezed in the frigid crawl of night.

Chan and Felix moved ahead.

Outside the stars were many small lights, tangled in the ocean blue.

They had wound up spending hours making hideous, useless jewelry after all.

Now, stopped on the street, he gazed up, hands pocketed, comfy and warm.

Sometimes it really was no fun being on your own.

Changbin caught up and slung an arm around his shoulder, clinging briefly before pulling away. “Where to?” he asked.

“Nowhere,” Jisung answered.

His mouth twisted upwards at the sight of his longtime brother and friend.

“I don't think it matters." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long to come out guys, I had a busy week 😊! Hopefully, we all got some kind of rest. Thanks for comments and kudos', they're appreciated a lot! 🤸🎉


	10. |Silver

* * *

**Two Days Prior**

* * *

  
The blackened beak of the dusky thrush twitched in the morningrise.

On its bending, shaking branch, the small brown bird tilted its head, then neck, observing the wintry-scape in familiar, keen focus.

Drops of ice froze beneath its talons.

Brown feathers.

Orange wings.

Minho studied it from where he stood on the hill. Angling his phone carefully, he took a picture.

The snap echoed in the frosty sky.

He sniffled.

Pads of his fingertips ruby red and raw, he checked the quality of the last four photos and sent them through. Then he tucked his phone into his coat and tugged his glove back on with the aid of his teeth and tightly clenched jaw.

The cold air burned his nose. His toes and feet were numb. His lungs shuddered and ached.

Not a single layer he wore could keep the arctic chill from penetrating, seeping deep within his bones.

Goosebumps prickled on his neck.

He wanted to go inside.

He wanted to stay outside.

Here the sky was open, periwinkle blue, blushing pink, hung in louring clouds.

Snow blew from the black cliffside encircling the home of nineteen chalets. Big and slow. It passed over his head, mirrored in his gaze.

Empyrean.

Birdsong in his ears.

He tore his gaze from above.

The bird canted its neck, studying him curiously.

Minho copied the behavior. Babbling, baby tongue left his mouth.

The bird chirped. It hopped along the branch. Nestled in a tiny bunch grew a cluster of scarlet berries.

Ahh.

He hadn’t noticed them before.

“So that’s what you eat,” he recognized.

A part of him felt sorry.

He adjusted his beanie and twisted his left airpod deeper into his ear as it threatened to slip. “Is it filling? Did you eat already?”

The bird merely started to eat.

Proudly, Minho cheered it on. “Good! Enjoy as much as you want!”

He stooped, brightly taking the time to gather snow into a pile.

Contentedly, he built it, until it reached his knees.

The hilltop was his alone.

It dipped and bellied into an empty field towards the treelines, offering vantage of the rear-side of the lodge in its entirety.

Sloping roofs and overhanging eaves. The biggest cabins for general public use sat at the base. Common chambers with billiards, televisions, couches and lounge-bars. Three restaurants, four dining halls, menus diverse and overflowing.

He knew for certain of the grandiose laundry rooms, the two saunas, the heated pool and gyms. Awnings and glass. High-rafters and pillars based in cobbled graying stones. Window walls and doors.

The cabins in the middle level were where most first-time visitors and those on a less grand budget housed in square, dark-curtained boudoirs. As the chalet-level rose on the mountainside, their size decreased and the embellishments and luxuriant inclusions increased. Private singular and double cabins peaked at the very top, cradled by pines and aspens.

Undoubtedly, the lone bungalow that had been built into the hills above them all, reserved itself for the family and its members who owned it.

On the eastern-facing side of the chalets and the mountain, were the slopes and the lifts and tubing hills. The western-facing side paved the only road entrance, funneled by great trees, where parking and visitors were received.

It really was the same.

For all the innovation and multiplicity of the man and woman behind its creation, they were sentimental- and never strayed from the original designs that had made their first lodge a success.

Or rather than sentiment…

Minho smoothed the pile of snow before him gently with both hands. Maybe the choice was out of respect.

In remembrance.

Memory and its muscles that brought relentless repetition, familiarity and nostalgia.

The heart was the strongest- and the most enduring. How many times was it _that_ which led him to where he stood today? How many times had he worked it- and cased it in steel?

A mind built, stacked in thoughtfully-placed bricks, re-arranged and aligned. Fortified.

He had made it, unbending.

He had held it, unbowing.

For all the might and care encompassed in that crafted shelter by calloused hands, what good did it do?

When the quakes shook its foundations. When the blood slipped through its cracks. When his body couldn’t bear the weight of the crumbling walls. What then?

_What then?_

His airpod burst to life. He jolted, fumbling with his snow pile.

The bird that had been watching from the branch flew off in the wake of the incoming call. He pressed the earphone- and answered loudly.

“You scared me!”

Minho sat, butt soaking, seeking to steady his racing pulse.

_“Is it a bad time to call?”_

“No.”

_“Then don’t scold!”_

“I wasn’t scolding! You want me to?”

_“No!”_

Minho half-scoffed a laugh.

Hana snickered.

_“Is it cold?”_

He threw some loose snow at his pile. “I’m freezing. Why aren’t the hills heated?”

_“Go to Jeju.”_

“I’m not looking for a volcano.”

Hana seemed to muse on the words. _“You should have a concert in Hawaii.”_

“Good idea. I’ll suggest it to our leader,” Minho agreed.

“ _Bang Chan_ ,” they emphasized together.

 _“Ahh… you talk about that oppa a lot,”_ Hana commented.

“Only to you,” Minho answered. He got on his knees and started shaping his snow mound into a sphere. “You got the photos then?”

_“I did. The lens quality is good. Your phone didn’t change, did it?”_

“I was right in front the tree. That’s probably why.”

Shuffling. Papers fluttering. _“I’ll draw diligently, oppa. Thank you.”_

“Do what you want,” Minho supported. He listened to the faint noise on the other end.

Tin clattered, pushed over wood, set aside.

Pencils rolled.

He sniffed to stop the running of his nose.

 _“I wonder if it’s the same,”_ said Hana. Contemplative. _“You never went to that one. Does it feel different?”_

“No, there’s no difference,” Minho told her. “Except the weather.” He packed extra snow on the base of his snowman, and then rose, starting on its midsection. “The lake would’ve been better.”

_"Maybe. But the hill wouldn't be there."_

Minho frowned. 

Hana wondered. _"The one by the lake... It's been forever. You'd rather fish, right?_ _Do you think your stuff is still there?”_

“...I don’t think so.”

Hana said nothing else for a time- and Minho didn’t either. He refocused on his task, slower than before.

Falling into rumination.

No.

His gear wouldn’t have been kept. It would’ve been taken and tossed like the rest.

The spinning rod from his uncle, it was far from expensive, but it had been gifted with as much thought as the kit of lures and weights and hooks from his mom, and the jacket from his aunt- the boots from his grandpa, the overalls from his grandma.

At the age of sixteen, he had left behind the fleece and muddied boots.

Because it burned.

Because it hurt.

Because they no longer fit as they should.

If he thought about it too much, he would tell himself that they had never truly fit.

Like him.

Like them.

 _“If I picture it. Nothing’s changed.”_ Hana’s words were soft. Underlined in longing.

He could see it, clear as day, her attention on her current drawing, absent yet focused.

_“I’ll be with them in the snow. I’ll be with mom. We’ll be sitting on the sofa by the fire. Her hat is big and fuzzy. She hates them but because it’s a gift from auntie, she’ll keep it on with a smile. She was good at pretending. Was it something I should’ve learned too? I’ve been thinking about that. How far I could’ve gotten.”_

The wind in his ears.

The ocean around him.

“Not far. It wouldn’t have worked.”

Simple and calm.

His snowman was without a head.

“Family and friends. They’d have noticed.”

 _“They all knew it.”_ Hana’s voice bore heavy weight. “ _You only said it first.”_

Minho acknowledged it. How could he not?

He had been the first.

The first lie and the first truth.

_This is what’s ahead._

Fabricated reality had slipped between his hands.

Like Seo’s glass.

Breaking, broken, gone.

“Hana?”

_“Yes?”_

“What was the exhibit like?”

She didn’t comment on his change of topic. Her tone grew thoughtful- then mischievous.

 _“Fun. There were lizards everywhere, and- ah, you should’ve seen that cowardly oppa of mine! In the garden, you could pet them but one got onto his face. He cried for so long! It was so embarrassing- I couldn’t stop laughing!”_ Hana broke into peals of laughter, her pencil on her page halting. _“Ahh, it was too funny. I took a video. Do you want to see it?”_

Minho hesitated.

Asked her to send it.

“Don’t tell him though.”

_“My mouth is shut. Really though… he cried a lot.”_

Minho stood in the snow. He remembered two nights before.

At the river. As Seo gripped his wrist and yelled.

Frightened.

Minho bent and gathered more snow. “Your brother.” He looked at the small winter in his hands. “He hasn’t changed at all.”

_“...Oppa. I meant to ask.”_

“Hm?”

 _“This trip,”_ Hana faltered. “ _You didn’t have to pay. We could’ve helped take care of it.”_

Minho knew. Better than anyone. However-

“It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t pay.”

He told her about his members. He told her about their decisions and their suspicions.

He didn’t tell her about his failing grip on the world around him, his hands scrabbling, feet struggling to keep him from plummeting off the cliff-wall’s edge.

He would hold on.

He would keep his head bowed.

He would _climb_ because there was no falling for him. From a distance so high- he would not get up again.

He’d return to Seoul soon enough.

He’d show energy. He’d show joy.

When he and his bandmates reunited, there would be doubts that he was okay.

Move forward.

Dance harder.

Run faster.

Give everything. Tear everything. Have fun.

Show them they were wrong.

Brightly. Shining. More and more.

Until Seo knew. Until Seo could understand.

On the stage of lights, to the sounds of cheers.

_Look at it and see what I want to show you._

_“I shouldn’t say where you are then, should I?”_

Hana’s query knocked lightly on his thoughts.

He shook his head although she couldn’t see.

“No, I’ll come back on Sunday I think. It’s not a big enough deal that anyone you’re thinking of would need to know.”

 _“If there’s anything you don’t like, tell me. I’ll pretend I’m someone important and file a complaint,”_ she joked.

“Heated hills.”

_“I already told you go to Jeju.”_

“Will you send a plane?”

_“I will. My dad will be the pilot.”_

“Then I pass.”

She giggled.

Sighed.

Cracked a bone in her hand.

Minho recognized the signs of a dwindling conversation.

Sure enough, Hana expressed her intent to return to her drawing. She wanted to finish before her routine check-in and afternoon tests. When she got the chance, she would find the video she had mentioned and send it over. But for now-

_“Be careful, oppa. Enjoy yourself! And- ah. Actually…”_

Minho listened to the sudden request she had.

A bit surprised, he agreed nonetheless and promised to let her know the next time he saw her in person.

_“Even if my brother said he’ll hit you?”_

“I’ll hit him back,” Minho scoffed.

_“Do it twice. That’s why you have two fists.”_

“That’s right!”

Their call ended and Minho was granted a modicum of peace on top the hill.

He inhaled- deeply- and released it with an exuberant yell. “Alright! Let’s go!” he shouted to no one and nothing.

He eyed his incomplete snowman- and with full power, belly flopped on top it. He didn’t know how long he fussed and fumbled on the hilltop beneath the soaring, leafless, berry-filled tree.

He only knew, lying in the midst of a hideously misshapen angel, when he had been caught.

“Sir…?”

Swallowing snow as he rolled over, questioning only slightly, silently, just how safe that was, he looked at the young bellhop in uniform, freezing his ass off.

The boy’s hair was cut like a bowl beneath his green and black, gold hat, acne-riddled face the epitome of terrified but polite.

Minho offered an affable greeting.

Baffled, the boy said, “Um. This... is a restricted area. You can’t… be here.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“N-No, I am,” the boy hurried to say. He straightened and brushed himself down. There was something of an attempt at a respectful glare as he refocused on Minho and deepened his voice. “I’m going to have to ask you to return to the lodgings. For your safety. Please come with me.”

Minho got to his feet and curiously leaned his weight, peering past the bellhop and down the hill towards the nearest chalet.

His eyes lingered on the sight, far away, below.

“Did you draw straws?”

“I- huh?”

Minho returned his gaze to the younger boy, amused. He bent and molded a snowball, packing it in his palm, a roguish grin on his lips.

“They sent you up here alone? Let’s go and tell them ‘hello’.”

The boy sputtered.

“ _Huh? Wait no-_ ”

* * *

Kyunghwan sat on a ladder, gunmetal grey and tall, rusted from years of use.

Its plastic seat was navy blue, nicked and scratched with numerous faded blotches of old paint and bleach.

In the wide and empty corridor of wood paneling and deep-grained floorboards, the orange bulbs of the light sconces glowed warm.

Two hefty, blue bags of soil, one pinched open and clipped at its corners, rested at the foot of the ladder. A yellow scooper dug deep inside. Black, plastic milk crates overflowed in an abundance of emerald leaves and flourished flowers, delivered mere hours before in the early, creeping dawn. His gloves were coarse and brown and green as paling fields in the banal autumn.

He tugged them off his hands and tucked them into the pocket of his striped and dirtied, waisted, garden apron. With considerable thought, he adjusted the newly-set amaryllis in its stone planter on the wall.

He poked at a baby spider tucked beneath the ruby-red petal's blossom.

It clung to his fingertip.

He extracted himself delicately, holding his finger to the wall and allowing it to crawl off and up away to the safe crevices of the ceiling.

"Please stop doing that."

Kyunghwan leaned back and relaxed, cocking an eyebrow at his work-companion below. His auburn-bleached hair and casual wear of an oversized white tee, loose-tied sneakers and jeans contrasted greatly with the all-black uniform, vest and radio Chulsoo wore.

He adjusted the bandana on his forehead, vibrant and green.

"What's with the expression? Aren't you all about 'saving the whales'?"

"Did that look like a whale to you?"

"They're harmless," Kyunghwan retorted, "and they can barely see. What's the point in killing something so defenseless just because you're scared?"

"You don't really think I'm scared of a spider," Chulsoo said dryly. The birthmark beneath his left eye became more prominent as he turned his head to track the spider's movement. Not that Kyunghwan believed his dongsaeng could actually see it. "I just don't want to deal with the complaints."

"The only complaint anyone will send to the boss is about your uppity-tightness," Kyunghwan told him. He rummaged in his apron pocket for tiny scissors. "Quit monitoring how much bacon people put on their plate, will you?"

"It's inhuman. You don't need three pounds."

"It's barely a pound. And I don't want to hear that from someone who eats oatmeal with nothing on it, you bland, pencil-pushing, outdated, side-swept-parted-hair, sorry-ass excuse for a human being."

Chulsoo wasn't even fazed. He regarded Kyunghwan flatter than the most flattened table in existence. "Why are you insulting me. It's barely seven a.m."

Kyunghwan snipped the stubs and removed the decay of all the flora tucked into the planter. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll wait 'til lunch."

He deposited the excess bits of flower and plants into the small trash bag Chulsoo held. He descended the ladder, and with the other's help, moved to the next set of planters on the wall.

He climbed back up.

For a time, he worked in silence, removing the older flowers and replanting the hanging pots with the new.

Methodical and rhythmic. Quiet and calm.

In this establishment, in these halls so familiar, it was too easy to get lost.

He lived fifty minutes away, in the shoddy one-story house of a rundown town with his mother and younger sister. His car rattled and had poor miles, shooting thick, black plumes of what was likely poison fumes into the frigid air.

It also had three dents from his next-door neighbor's kids who couldn't catch in broad daylight, much less in the dark.

His contract asked little of him.

He visited monthly. Sometimes bi-weekly.

Repotting wasn't common under a timeframe less than a year.

The outdoor growths needed little else except to be checked in on, bred for harsher weathers, thriving alpines in the cold.

It was the inner decorations he resoiled and observed.

The ones he noted to switch in the changing seasons. The kind he took a sort of pride in matching with the decor. Maintaining the _'Im sense'_ as it was largely known.

He was polite when needed.

He did his job well.

He didn't possess the intelligence of any natural-born genius. He didn't possess the prestige of a lauded reputation.

He was a kid without the funds for a degree. A kid with no ambition. He wasn't ashamed.

What he wanted was simple.

Simple, with a home. Simple, with a family- _his_ family- and friends.

When he was nine-years old, a garden had been made. In the front of his mother's shop, square and small, full of hand-sewn clothes. Enclosed by a rusted gate, the wilted, crawling plants were poorly born. Yet his mother attended to it faithfully, hoping with good care, they would blossom well.

What little money they had to their name had brought difficulties.

Pity, embarrassment, harassment.

Classmates had thrown mud at their walls and stones at his face.

They had tugged the straps of sister's backpack and made fun of her hair.

Once, he had woken to see their garden trampled in and the few vegetables that had been growing, crushed underfoot.

Only once.

Hearing his mother's weeping, he hadn't let it happen again.

The years had come and gone.

They aged.

Classmates focused on studies. They graduated. Some left for the bigger cities. Others pursued more education.

Few, repentant, matured, built-up the community.

Committed to family.

The shop his mother owned became a home for flowers and bouquets. The garden became their pride. The buds they fostered and grew together, were vibrant, bursting blooms.

Gifts to others.

Kyunghwan had been attempting to ease the overgrown vines from their dirty fence on the day that man came.

In a suit and tie, black hair neatly combed, features cut and eyes dark.

Out of place yet certain where he stood.

He had studied their garden. He had studied Kyunghwan.

He had requested an anniversary bouquet with what minimal variations of flowers they kept, silent as he watched Kyunghwan put it together.

Then he had given a card.

A number.

An offer.

 _ **Im Yeongsu**_.

That had been his name.

Kyunghwan had done research.

Born and raised in Seoul. The youngest son. Inheritor of his father's trade in the overseas market, and spearhead of a foreign chain of travel companies most prominent in Southeast Asia. Companies that had only seen growth in the thirty years of globalization that had passed.

The eldest sister had delved into corporate fashion before becoming an entrepreneur of her own line. She had utilized their connections and gained an ample amount of sponsorship and tied contracts on an international front, lesser-known as they were. She partnered with four magazines.

Both sister and brother were shareholders.

Apparently, Im Yeongsu was a man who also took care to invest stocks.

These were things Kyunghwan didn't have an interest in himself.

It had baffled him- the offer of employment.

Six years had passed since he had accepted the odd-end position.

At first, he believed there'd been no rhyme or reason. An impulsive choice. A random behavior.

However.

Now he knew why.

It was for the same reason why he sat here on this ladder, with these particular red flowers, once a year.

His employer had faults.

This was not one of them.

Kyunghwan withdrew his hands from the crimson blossom on the wall.

Chulsoo watched his hyung, circumspective of the way the older vanished into his head.

It wasn't unusual.

Neither were their presences in one another's company.

They had met when Kyunghwan was twenty-two and Chulsoo was nineteen. Chulsoo, who'd been working seasonal shifts since the age of seventeen at the chain of lodges, hadn't recognized the unfamiliar man poking around their entrance garden. For eighty minutes, he had followed Kyunghwan around- in and out the halls, through the chalets, up and down the mountain- at a distance he believed wasn't very noticeable.

Of course he was very wrong- and it took another three trips around the hillside, out of breath and gasping, for him to realize that the older boy was doing it on purpose.

Needless to say, their first impressions had been far from greatest.

But time had changed what recklessness and animosity they once had.

It had changed all of them.

The day Hana fell.

Chulsoo was stronger and Chulsoo was wiser.

But he felt, more than ever, his own weakness.

Care for the people around him. Care for the employees.

Mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters- they were the ones who had become important beyond all else next to his own family.

He was a guard, now twenty-five, still so young, but old. His goals for the future, he didn't know them quite yet.

So he would do what he could in the present.

Keep an eye out and protect.

Their owner had ceased his visits with his family long ago, but that didn't mean what he had taught them was forgotten.

Least of all to him.

In the silence, Kyunghwan's stomach whined.

Chulsoo reached into the breastpocket of his vest, pulling out a protein bar and nicely-folded napkin.

He offered them up.

"Hyung, here."

Kyunghwan stared. "Is there a plate in there too? Why do you have that stuff prepared?"

Chulsoo looked at him like he was an idiot. "For when I get hungry. If you don't want the chocolate, I have a vanilla and strawberry."

"...Like a strawberry-flavored one... or a strawberry- because I wouldn't put that past you either-"

"It was an almond, _once,_ " Chulsoo scowled, "and if you don't want my kindness then I'll take it back." He started to re-pocket his snack.

Faintly, vaguely, footsteps barreled on the floor, echoing loud and frantic along the walls from an adjacent hall.

Kyunghwan heard the commotion rounding the corner, but ignored it, leaning unbalanced from the ladder towards Chulsoo's vest instead. "No, no, no, I'm sorry, give it here," he begged. "Your hyung is a fool! I spoke out of line!"

Chulsoo looked at his companion smugly. "If you think I'll correct you, you're wrong."

Breathless laughter and squeals.

Something was thundering their way.

Chulsoo turned to investigate.

He tripped forgotten milk crate.

His face met the floor.

His leg hit the ladder.

Kyunghwan toppled off.

His body broke both bags of soil as it met the floor.

Minho, zooming way too inhumanely fast to stop, pitched over three crates and flew into a wall.

Soaking wet, the three employees who'd been chasing him- paused. 

* * *

  
On her desk, in her minimistically-furnished office, Misun's radio crackled to life.

Her attention stayed on her computer. Resolute.

It was half past seven on a Saturday.

No.

_No._

* * *

  
For all her resolve, reality was far stronger.

The chalet in question was commonplace for far more employees than guests.

Tucked in the furthest left corner of the snowy hills, it boasted two floors of storage for overflowing luggage, maintenance equipment, guests supplies, furnishings, decorative pieces and steel warehouse shelving racks.

There were sectioned work-spaces for those whose job requirements mandated they stay online.

Reservations, financing, promotions and website booking. 

For those who lived closest, this was their home base. Few made the journey into the main headquarters located in Seoul.

Technology had made it easier. Great as they were, the advancements had limited their interactions with their employers in a way it hadn't before.

The owner of their properties had been heavily-invested in the growth and gentle presentation of his lodges. Face-to-face meetings and round-table discussions had been commonplace. So were walks and tri-monthly tours.

But now, a simple video and email sufficed. A phone call.

In the hills, in the snow, the isolation felt far greater.

Misun's office had been earned through the years with dedication and hard work to the family that had pulled her own out of debt.

By no means did she have wealth. But she had worked to a place where she could live on her own in a small apartment where natural light fell, where her couches were comfortable, where she could dress and eat well and hold herself with pride.

Her income was a fixed salary with ample bonuses, and though she had logged enough hours to take three consecutive months off, she had not.

The timing wasn't right. Not yet.

She wanted to see things to the end. However long that took-

She would wait.

As a manager, Misun valued the work ethic of her employees the most. When the quarter ended and they finished with high reviews and guests who promised to return, who booked in advance, she could hold her head high and thank them with a humbled smile and bow. Most weeks they were a well-oiled machine.

However.

Since the troubles of the Im family began, the staff had grown complacent.

They whispered in the halls rumors of a man who had lost interest and will, of a man who would give ownership to partial-owners in the months to come.

He would lose his youngest. He would lose his oldest. His son?

He had lost him long ago.

Such speculations were impossible to stop.

The man who had fostered the ideals of open doors, could no longer close the doors on the community that had been inside. Many of them had worked in some capacity for his family for years.

Policies unconventional.

Reputation fair.

This was not a company a high number of them would willingly leave.

That a man like Yeongsu believed they held no interest in the well-being of the one who had given them gifts of belonging, worth and purpose...

Misun rounded the corner of a nondescript hall on the lowest floor.

Her employees were there, attempting to dislodge the legs of a ladder from where it had punctured straight through the wood paneling of the wall.

Shattered clay and soil. Overturned and limply lying plants.

Mindful of her pantsuit, straightening her blazer buttoned tight, Misun set aside her first impressions of judgement- and approached.

"The day hasn't started yet," she commented.

The three young bellhops working with the ladder, jumped and looked at her with fumbling words and hands.

She was certain, by the colored pin on their uniform's chest, that they were supposed to be in a different chalet two doors over, attending to guests.

They furiously bowed, apologies on their tongues, but it was Chulsoo- with a broom and dustpan and swollen bump on his brow- who spoke proper words and lowered his head.

"I would like to atone on behalf of hyung's carelessness. Please dock his pay so that a lesson might be learned-"

A pair of balled up gloves were chucked at the back of his skull. "It's your fault. I'll dock your pay myself."

Kyunghwan, from where he'd been crouching on the ground behind the other man, stood up. A rag-covered ice pack was in his left hand.

He was holding himself gingerly, but if he was in great pain, he didn't say it aloud.

He looked at Misun with some manner of remorse.

She waited, expectant. 

"I don't think it's as bad as it looks," he tried.

Both their eyes went to the ruptured wall.

The bellhops had renewed their efforts in the wake of their manager's presence.

They were proceeding to make the tear worse.

Horrible buckling and snapping resounded in the hall as the wood broke further.

Kyunghwan did a double-take. "Why are you guys still trying to get it out?" His eyes snapped towards his boss. "Not that I have any authority, but... _why_ is that so hollow? Weren't they remade with sturdier stuff? Please tell me this isn't actually coming out of my paycheck."

Misun had the same sort of questions.

There was a similar incident two years ago involving a bug and a hammer, but she had thought the infrastructure of all the cabins had since been rectified.

She withheld her sigh.

Cold air rushed around them from the now larger, jagged hole.

A leak in ventilation? Stray wind from the outdoors?

She would have to call someone and see.

Misun instructed the bellhops to leave the ladder where it was before they put a hole in the floor next. She went for her radio and started to dismiss them to their original stations.

"There's something else," Kyunghwan said before she finish.

The questionable awkwardness in the younger man's voice made her stop.

He turned slightly.

For the first time, Misun caught sight of the body on the floor that had been hidden behind Kyunghwan's own.

She stared.

"So you know," Kyunghwan defended, "he was already like that when I got up."

"He's not dead," Chulsoo informed her. "We checked."

Misun looked at them both.

She went to see the boy lying prone- and froze.

* * *

  
Miraculously, Minho woke.

He was alive- despite the strong feeling he had that he shouldn't be.

He cracked open an eye, winced, re-shut it, opened both and groaned. His fingers touched his pounding, fog-filled head.

Full of too much nothing.

Heavy. Thick.

His mouth twisted.

He tugged at his hair, trying to tear the irritation away.

He placed himself.

Felt for his surroundings.

On a sofa. Gray matte.

The walls were painted white, shelves built into the walls with numerous hard-cover books and trinkets. Glass and iron figurines of buildings and animals.

Snow globes. Mini cacti.

Framed artwork of single objects on a blank canvas.

A feather.

A palm tree.

A rock.

A parent and child's hand.

They were black and white.

Two square cushions dug into his lower back the further he pulled himself up to sit.

Pink hellebores rested in glass vases, bending still.

The flowers gave him pause.

He looked at them through the gaps of his fingers and his hair. He had seen them before.

_No._

More than that.

Minho lowered his hand.

He _recognized_ them.

Morning was a pale, white glow casting on the white, wood floor. The noise in his mind went still. Swept aside for the realization that came.

The door was to his left.

He looked to his right.

A woman, black hair to her shoulders, suit sharp, skin pale, features delicate, watched him indiscriminately. Her computer was set out of the way, leaving room for her hands to interlace before her.

There was no nameplate to her desk.

Abaft, the tall windows showcased the slopes and the peaks of the forested green, and the eager early-risers who bumbled and gathered at the lift stations to ride.

He felt cold.

A long-sleeved shirt and sweats. That was all he wore. His outer-coverings were gone.

His coat and scarf and hat and gloves- he couldn't see them anywhere around.

Alarm.

He didn't feel it.

He didn't feel an ounce at all.

"Lee Minho." She spoke courteously. As if they were akin to stranger. Her head tilted to regard him. "Your stage name... 'Lee Know'... was it? Would you prefer I address you as such instead?"

Silent, Minho shook his head.

It hurt to do so.

He grimaced. His hand clutched at the top of the sofa. He squashed the nausea down.

He wasn't supposed to be here. In this place so far from home.

These were not the bowing reeds and cattails of an ocean-blue lake. This was not the scent of his uncle and his aunt's car.

There was no mud. No summer sun. No worms, no fish, no friends, no warmth. No paws of his cats to hold and autumn leaves to kick and build and race through as he laughed.

Exhilaration.

Ruddy cheeks.

_You are not there._

He collected the pieces, broken in his head.

_That's right._

He fitted them precariously. Remembering.

White walls in the mountains.

Snow on the hills.

This had been the _other_. The past he was returning to- for the sake of the future ahead.

Misun was quiet as she watched him.

She was quiet as she talked.

"I was surprised. No nicknames or pseudo-names. Though I suppose not many, if any, here would know you for who you are."

"I'm sorry," Minho said.

She lowered her eyes to the papers on her desk. "You became an idol."

Minho's voice was soft. "I did."

"You've traveled to many countries."

"I have."

"What did you see?"

Minho heard the question for what it truly was.

His heart beat in his chest. His blood moved in his ears, a slow and churning river of recall.

"An answer," he said.

"...The last time we met, you were young. You were at his side."

Minho looked at her. She met his gaze. Held it.

Dropped it and stood.

Her expression couldn't be read.

"I wondered if you would change. I suppose little has."

She went to the nearest shelf. A vase of flowers with the least bloomed buds sat center. Books to its left. A petite and dark, embellished box, made of wood to its right.

She considered it as she spoke.

"The commotion near the dining hall. I'm told you threw the snowball first. What was the hose for?"

"...The kitchen-hands. They started building igloos and firing back at us."

"They've had tension with our service staff for a while. From what was explained to me, you were playing around with the bellhops. One shared that his initial intent had been to retrieve you from the hill. That location is off-limit to guests. And its importance is unknown, save to a few."

Misun removed the box from its spot on the shelf where it had been sitting, untouched, for years.

She turned.

Minho gazed at her, far too knowing.

"Why were you there?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

She didn't approach.

Her voice, her features, softened.

"You have never visited here, right? The lake was your favorite. You must not remember me well."

Minho spoke, eyes falling to the ground. "I remember."

He worked his mouth.

His face twisted and settled and pulled apart again.

"I didn't know where you'd gone. I thought- back then- it made sense you would leave so I thought-" he couldn't finish the train of thought.

She understood, regardless.

Because she was the same.

"I wanted to," she said. "But here I am."

Finally, she approached him.

She offered him the box.

"These troublesome people are hard to escape. It's maddening. It hurts more to look away. I wondered if you could."

Minho took the box slowly. He unhooked the latch and looked inside.

His breath hitched.

Misun was unmoving, and though her eyes were bright, her lips remained pressed thin. "I don't know why you returned when you had the chance to go."

Minho was speechless. He raised his head, tearing his gaze from what was within the box. 

Misun studied his face. "...Thinking on it, I don't believe you ever left. I remember who you are." Her eyes wandered. Paused. Minho followed her line of sight to where it fell on the blue-threaded bracelet around his wrist- familiar to them both.

A certain shock he couldn't understand changed her expression.

He never had the chance to question, because she helplessly smiled and said-

"I think you've both grown."

Minho didn't understand what she meant.

Misun saw.

Her smile threatened to grow, but she composed herself swiftly.

About the box, she told him-

"He won't come back to a place like this. But if it was the hill you were on, Hana would've asked. It'd be good if he could have these precious dreams he's forgotten. Will you bring them to him when you see him again?"

Minho held the box so carefully, so tightly in his hands.

No. He wouldn't. 

He handed it back.

Misun startled, surprised.

Minho frowned, determined. "He'll come here and get them himself. There's nothing he's forgotten."

Unyielding.

His eyes burned bright.

Misun's heart filled.

Faithfully indeed.

Nothing had changed.

She accepted the box and stepped away.

"Very well."

Her voice lightened despite how her face grew lightly scolding.

"In your own time, I suppose you'll tell me why you're here and where you've truly been. I'm aware the lake's lodge carries themselves less strictly, but please try and follow our own rules while you're here. I've spoken with the reception staff. They tell me you _were_ informed of what they were."

Minho cleared his throat and looked at the opposite wall.

She sighed.

"Minho."

He slumped.

"Yes, noona."

After that, the confined air they had been hold one another to, dispersed.

Misun explained that his missing clothing had been sent to laundry and would be delivered to his room later on.

The property damage, despite garish appearances, was minimal and would be written off as a 'landscaping incident' of which no one would be blamed.

Her employees would have to sit through a seminar no doubt, but it was a reminder on safety and protocols she rationed would be useful in case of future... mishaps.

They didn't discuss anything else.

They knew it wasn't necessary- no not for now.

For now, they would be left to think on what revelations they had quietly discovered.

Misun radioed for Chulsoo.

She was utterly unsurprised when he entered with Kyunghwan at his side.

"What were you doing?" she asked.

They were abnormally out of breath.

Kyunghwan's face was streaked in dirt. "Packing my stuff into the car. He wanted a 'race'."

"I don't know why you're using air quotes," Chulsoo told him flatly. "It was a race and you lost."

He stood upright with straightened shoulders, features emotionless despite how disheveled his hair was and flushed his cheeks were.

"I won," he told Misun.

"Yes, I gathered," she told him back.

"The day you let him go, please let me know," Kyunghwan snapped, keeling over.

Introductions were brief. Apologies were longer.

Minho, somewhat sheepish and embarrassed, inquired if he could lend them a hand for the mess he had caused.

Kyunghwan and Misun had shared a glance.

Misun's eyes had narrowed.

Kyunghwan's grin had grown.

Before she could protest, he cheerfully approved.

"I could always use an extra hand!"

On his way out the door, however, accompanied by Kyunghwan and Chulsoo, Minho had paused and looked over his shoulder towards the woman he had known years and years before.

"About me being here..."

He faltered.

Bowed.

"Don't tell abeonim I'm here." 

* * *

Flurries had kick-started as morning flourished.

Kyunghwan was mindful of the icy steps and stones as they carried what remained of his gardening supplies from the foyer to his car.

He was more than capable of handling it on his own, but he was intrigued, and knew Chulsoo was too.

 _"Sooooo,"_ he began.

He stepped aside to let Chulsoo store a third milk crate in his steadily filling trunk space.

He addressed the other boy beside him who was watching the proceedings absent-minded.

"You her illegitimate love-child or somethin'?"

Minho inhaled so sharply he choked on a mouthful of air and broke into coughs.

Chulsoo straightened, rigid as a robot, and slapped him on the back.

Kyunghwan wisely took the box Minho carried off his hands. He tucked the heavy crate into his trunk and closed it lightly.

"Alright. Easy there," he smirked. "I was kidding but your reaction makes me feel like it's true."

Minho gawped.

Endearing.

But suspicious.

What a transparent kid.

Misun wasn't seeing anyone- Kyunghwan knew that for a fact.

He also knew Misun had no nieces or nephews.

She was atrocious with kids, terrified of babies and so fearful of her own impression on someone's parents that she projected an absolute lack of romantic interest.

Misun and Minho were born with prominent yet soft features, striking eyes and a perfectly-bridged nose.

Those were the only similarities they possessed.

Kyunghwan had mused on it in the time spent cleaning the damage of the hall he and Chulsoo had caused.

The rich kid of some prominent family she knew?

A troublemaker? A wayward new hire?

An ex-employee?

The possibilities weren't as endless as they seemed.

After all, Misun wasn't in the habit of bringing injured randoms to her personal office to lay them on the couch. There was an on-site medic team for that.

And-

There were few people who would ever, _ever_ refer to Im Yeongsu as _abeonim_.

"Well?" he hedged. "You must be important."

"I'm not," the kid answered.

"Uh-huh. Throw me a bone. I'm just trying to know who I almost took out this morning in case some wealthy person's wrath gets me fired. You a cousin? Some sort of sibling twice removed, brought back, removed again?"

Minho eyed him strangely and spoke sharply. "What? No."

Kyunghwan wasn't offended.

He snorted- set his hands on his waist and studied the kid keenly.

"You know the big boss. He's a friendly guy, but not as friendly as you think, yeah? I didn't think he'd be making buddies with a kid."

Minho pulled back.

He set one foot behind him, hesitating.

Kyunghwan's eyes fell on it. 

Instinct to run?

Well wasn't that interesting.

"I... don't think it matters who I know," said the kid dispassionately.

Right. Definitely shifty.

Kyunghwan contemplated whether Misun would be more willing to answer the questions he had.

It was a fleeting thought. She was a barricaded wall.

"If you say so!"

He slapped the boy on the shoulder, amicably, and went to the front of his car.

"I've got places to be. Important things to do."

"No you don't," Chulsoo said.

"Keep quiet, you."

Kyunghwan threw some snow off his car in his co-worker's direction, then redirected his attention towards Minho who still looked ready to flee at any given moment.

He almost wanted to sigh.

He really needed to work on his first impressions.

"Sorry about earlier," he expressed, "I'm glad you're good. Nothing hurts, right?"

"...I'm okay."

Fidgety and a liar.

The kid looked off.

Part of Kyunghwan sought to stay behind so he could investigate what the hell was going on.

Except he had promised his mother he'd be home to cook and he had never missed an appointment with her yet. A community-hall meeting would be held in the afternoon and it was their turn on the roster to prepare lunch. Then they would sing a bunch of songs on a beat-up karaoke and try to teach a dance. 

Kyunghwan wasn't a dancer. 

He should find someone who was before he threw out his back for real.

So, when it came to being around Misun and the lodge, he couldn't be the one to do it. 

There was- however- someone else who could.

He met Chulsoo's eyes.

"Alright."

He smiled at Minho and casually waved.

"Have fun with what you came here to do then. I won't be here to drop any more ladders on you- but that guy will probably stalk you from a distance so. Look out for that."

He pointed at Chulsoo.

Chulsoo bent over, and without a word, picked up a chunk of pure ice.

Right-o.

There was his cue.

Kyunghwan ducked into his car. 

* * *

There was quiet between Chulsoo and the guest they had nearly murdered hours before.

He tried not to feel so awkward. He hoped he wasn't making the boy awkward uncomfortable either.

Chulsoo was often told he had that affect on others. 

But if the boy was uneasy, he kept those feelings to himself. 

Together, they climbed the steps of the main chalet- where visitors regularly checked in and frequented the off-shoot bar.

His hyung had asked the kid if anything hurt, and although the answer had been a very sure _'no',_ there was a sweaty pallor to his skin that had appeared once they had begun carrying boxes to and from Kyunghwan's car.

He wasn't even wearing a coat. Why was he so flushed?

Chulsoo frowned.

He stopped as they passed through the front doors of the lobby and stood on the wide crimson rug that graced the floor.

The boy, noticing, stopped as well, tugging at the neck of his shirt to fan himself.

"Is something wrong?" he worried.

Chulsoo was a bit confused why the question was being directed towards him. "No. I'm alright," he answered. 

Minho.

That had been the boy's name.

Something told him not to forget.

Something else seemed to cross the Minho's mind.

The young kid straightened, just a bit, and asked- "Do you have the time?"

"Nine-thirty."

Minho winced. A shadow of realization crossed his face.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I have to go."

He bowed politely and excused himself, swiftly walking past and vanishing out the very doors they had just walked through.

Chulsoo turned and watched the younger boy's walk break into a jog down the stone steps with a great sense of speed and agility that hadn't existed before.

The boy slipped twice, skidded once- then disappeared from Chulsoo's sight completely. 

Strange. 

Wasn't it?

He hesitated.

_What Kyunghwan-hyung wants..._

He hesitated some more.

He went to the front desk.

And asked. 

* * *

Racing up the hilltop to where his own chalet was stationed, Minho halted himself abruptly and clung to the path railing.

His breath escaped him in wheezes so large and grand and suffocating, the pain was near excruciating.

His lungs rattled.

Dizziness came and went.

He swallowed back his spit and wiped his brow.

Misun.

Im Yeongsu.

Guitar strings forgotten.

Gathered twigs and stones.

Minho gasped and sucked in air.

He wanted to leave it behind. He wanted to be there once more.

In the city.

In the cliffs.

By the lake. 

Who had had been kidding?

How stupid of him to think he could escape and still hold on.

_Stupid._

He seized the frozen rail beside him and _climbed._

His chest burned.

Stupid.

Very stupid.

_This is what I chose._

The mountain view above him rose insurmountably high.

Basked in the pale-light morning glory, he remembered again what it meant to be insignificantly weak and small.

For Seojun.

This is what he chose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My ADHD has been B r u t a l the last few days. I'm sorry this chapter came so late, I couldn't sit down and focus at all. Extremely frustrating but I persisted 😭 I hope you could still enjoy it.


	11. |Yellow

* * *

**Two Days Prior Still**

* * *

The courtyard was calm.

Frondescence overspilling. Grasses tall and strong. The browns were rich, the greens were dark.

In the pathlight of the sun, the stone bench kept warm.

She sat on its corner, ankles crossed, resting as she hummed.

Beryl blue and thrones of white stretching overhead, startlingly clear and vast. In the halcyon weather, time held its place and lingered slow. 

She remembered midsummer, humid, swampy air. Cicadas in the thrush. Crawling life hidden in the undergrowth as she stooped and searched. Muddy hands and knees. The stench of musk and drowning earth.

Murky depths.

The lake beyond the tangled weeds and pier, had waited dark and still.

Her reflection had been seen in stark clarity, the details of her existence etched in rippling, bending lines. Beneath the surface, the abyss could not be seen.

But staring at it, she had felt it- sinisterly so.

A call.

A beckoning.

A whisper to come home.

Six years old, on the rickety, grained planks above the water’s lurking depths, Hana had taken one step off.

Her brother swept her in his arms, swiftly, from behind- though he had been fixing the reel of his rod mere moments before.

He hadn’t yelled.

He hadn’t scolded or scowled.

He had searched her face importantly. He had hugged her tight.

Fifteen years old, he had sat her on his shoulders and bore her weight, pointing not to the waters, but towards the soaring sky.

In the fiery, mottled hues of burning dusk, two birds flew and spun.

Wings spread. Unburdened.

That night, they caught fireflies in the cup of their palms.

With their mother and father and family and friends, illuminated in the glow, they had smiled. They had laughed.

They had released the lights into the dark.

Stars into the skies.

That was their last summer.

What came after, was autumn, and with autumn came the rain. With autumn, the dead leaves and the spindly trees. The wet and the cold. The gray afternoons on outside stairwells, sitting in the storm. Umbrellas over her head, not her own.

Her father, her brother, her friends.

Her feet, when she walked, sank in frigid puddles, soaking, aching numb.

Like winter.

As her legs gave.

As her mind slowed. 

She opened her eyes beneath the sun. 

Yes.

Hana remembered midsummer.

She remembered the humid and the swampy air.

This was not there.

She was not there.

Hana was thirteen and Hana was here.

In her palm was her phone. Looking at the screen, she recalled.

Her father, her family, her friends.

Now, they were there, held in her hand.

Far away.

Still near.

If she called, they would answer.

They always had.

Except when they didn’t.

As the day drew near, fewer and fewer of them did. 

Hana's thumb lingered on the contact she should have forgotten.

But as her heart tightened, swelled, and hurt, she wanted to call more than ever.

Her thumb dropped.

She locked her screen and folded the phone down onto her lap.

Hidden from the sun. Hidden from the light.

From over her shoulder, her name was called.

Hana turned her head.

In an archway of the cloister, one of the nurses stood, a familiar expression on her face.

Hana got to her feet.

She grinned sheepishly and bowed.

* * *

"Oh."

Her brother greeted her as she returned to her room.

"And here I thought you went on vacation. Did you enjoy the sun?"

Hana huffed. _"Yes."_

The nurse left them peacefully, clicking the door in shut behind her softly as Hana accused, "Have you been here the entire time I was gone?"

"Depends." Her brother quirked a brow. "I came an hour ago. What- were you outside for longer?"

"The air was nice."

"At least let someone know."

"I left a note."

Seojun, despite attempts to remain stern, did a terrible job at hiding his smile. "Yeah. I saw. I waited fifty minutes before telling anyone."

Hana let her smile show.

She walked further inside the room and brushed her long skirt down.

It nearly swept the floor. White and pink and blue. Floral. A gift from her aunt a birthday ago.

Hana hadn't much grown or changed. Many of her clothes fit as they had years ago.

For her brother- she couldn't say the same.

Different.

From the day he had dropped out of school, letter in hand, hair dyed, uniform gone, smiling at the teacher, bowing low.

Highlighted, sand-brown, parted comfortably, it remained remarkably shinier and full than her own hair had ever been- ever before she had grown ill.

His sweaters, the overcoats, the collared-shirts and slacks had gone.

Tees and jeans and belts.

Thick-laced boots and hoodies.

Their family's image- he had disregarded and tossed it to the wind.

His scars unhidden.

Hours of vigorous labor outdoors had built his muscles and blemished his skin.

Ruggedness- off-set only by the kindness in his eyes and soft features all siblings shared. Inherited from their father.

Though she wasn't sure her brother would ever admit it.

Today, in black jeans and a black tee, he sat comfortably at the white table pulled towards her bed.

She hadn't been expecting him.

If she had known, she might've tried to move it back to its original spot. Oblivious as he often played himself off to be, he was frighteningly astute. If he hadn't already, if she let him think on it for any longer, he would soon deduce why the table's place was different. 

Ten minutes.

She had pushed it there herself the night before, in ten painstaking minutes, with an effort that left her arms numb and shaking. She had sat on the floor afterwards, breathless, sweating, chest heaving. She'd been scolded in the morning.

When the worried caretaker on-duty had asked why and what for, she only mentioned she wanted to be able to watch videos and movies on her tablet and phone by propping them up.

Her nightstand was too small.

She needed more room to rest her books and snacks and craft supplies. This was the easiest way to keep them in reach.

She had apologized for the trouble and promised not to try such things again. 

She hadn't told the truth.

That the past few days, she'd been tired.

That the wooden chairs were painful.

Her bones hurt.

It was exhausting- constantly crossing the floor.

To the bookshelves. To the window. To the bathroom. To her boxes of prized possessions and stowed art.

For all the crawling progressions towards recovery her recent tests had showed, pieces of her were still breaking.

Why?

Inside, something was deteriorating.

But what?

Her sheets felt softer.

Her pillows more welcoming. Before they had been stifling- much too much, too much.

Now she wanted to sleep.

She wanted to rest, unthinking, listening to the sounds of silence and music for the rest of her days.

It was the promise of a future that made her rise and sit.

Smile and walk.

If she wasn't alone, she could do it. If her brother was here, she could.

If he was alive- grinning, laughing- still, it would be okay.

Regardless of the cost.

On the round table was an assortment of pristine books in mint condition. A white, blue-ribbon box was at the foot of the chair Seojun waited in, opened with care, its lid gingerly re-set on top alongside the impersonally printed card of his name.

Hana hid a small smile. 

Although she was fatigued- although it burned and scalded as a torch against her skin- she pulled the second chair out across from her brother and joined his company.

He pushed over a piece of crinkled notebook paper lightly.

They looked at the crudely-written words in multi-colored crayon, lopsided and varying in size.

_GoNe oUt._

Seojun spoke first.

"Why is it written in serial-killer font?"

"It's not. It's artistic expression."

"That's a big word for a kid."

"It's a big word for a kid with a big brain." She eyeballed him with great suspicion. "Why do you always act like I'm seven? I'm grown, you know."

Seojun, nine years older, made a face. " _I'm_ grown," he said. "You're literally a baby."

"I'm not."

"Give it up." Her brother propped his elbow up and set his chin in his palm, exasperated. "You're always gonna be my kid sibling."

To him, that would never change, would it?

She could hear it.

The fondness in his voice.

Alongside their older sister, he had raised her.

First steps to walking. Walking to running. Running to jumping.

When she had stumbled and when she had sank, then too, they had raised her from the ground.

Hana placed her phone on the table.

Seojun noticed.

Contemplated.

Said-

"You always have that on you nowadays. Who are you texting?"

Hana almost laughed. Almost. "I don't text. I'm looking at videos and photos."

"Uh-huh." He nudged her toe gently until the table. "Let me meet them sometime, will you? I know you send weird videos of me to them."

Unfortunately, he did.

She had recorded a video last week of him struggling to open a can of pineapples that had eventually exploded on his face.

It was intended for their older sister, but she had mistakenly sent it to Seojun with a stream of laughing emojis, sad tears, and a message noting

_|he's at it again kekeke_

instead.

Knowing full well how suspicious she looked, Hana slid her phone off the table and tucked it into her skirt pocket.

Just in case.

If he found out she was messaging _Minho_ of all people...

"No way," she told. "You can't meet them."

Seojun leaned back, crossing his arms. "Why not?"

"Similar people don't get along. You'd probably scare them off anyway."

"Me and you are pretty similar and we get along. And I'm not scary."

"I didn't say you were scary. I said you'd scare them off." 

"That's the same thing." 

"Not it's not." 

"Yes it is-" Seojun cut himself off.

He sighed.

They both knew it was pointless for him to try and win any sort of argument between them.

She was persistent to a fault. He usually caved in.

Seojun gestured to the books on the table in between them. "What's this for?" he asked her.

Vocal warm-ups. Training and health. Guitar progressions and chords, the essentials of playing- construction and care.

They shone brightly, virtually untouched, covers reflected in the ceiling's lights.

Thoughtfully selected.

Hopes and dreams.

Hana wondered how long her brother had run his finger over the printed lines and vibrant, vivid colors.

How long had he remembered before closing them shut- and searching for her instead?

"Do you like them?" she asked.

Seojun's disposition was warm. 

"They're nice. Really good quality. Where did you get them from?"

She hadn't been the one to buy them.

Nevertheless, she told him, "It's not a big deal. You can keep them on that empty shelf at home."

Her brother's face didn't change. "That's okay," he said kindly. He started to reach for the box by his heels. "It's better we keep them here. I don't want to ruin them."

"You wouldn't ruin them," Hana answered. She put a hand on the book he tried to stow away first. "They're yours," she said.

Her brother didn't fight her but he said in turn, "They're mine and I can't keep them home. I filled the shelf."

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

She squinted. "With what?"

"What?"

"What did you put on the shelf?"

"Stuff."

The slightest hints of crossness struck his tone.

Hana tried not to roll her eyes. She leaned away.

Her brother set the box back on the floor, leaving everything as it was before.

Untouched.

Beneath his eye, the remnants of a purple bruise shone. 

Seojun was grown. So his problems were his own.

Was that the kind of nonsense he assumed?

That she would never bring them up?

He knew her better than that.

She would ask. She would push- but not any farther than he would let her.

She couldn't no matter how much she wanted to.

Because she knew.

How many times had he hid somewhere and cried, frustrated, beaten, ashamed?

He could pretend- but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

That didn't stop her disgruntlement or the further helplessness she felt, trapped in here- while he was out there.

"You're so dumb for that," she said quietly.

Soejun frowned, offended.

"What were you doing?" Hana pressed, curious and sincere. "Who hit first?"

"That's none of your business," he sighed.

"...I wish you guys would talk."

"We did. Then we fought. That's how it is."

"That's not how it was."

Seojun's gaze grew conflicted. "That was then. This is now."

Shadows in his eyes, he cleared his throat.

Seojun stood from the table and cracked his bones, turning his back as he did so, avoiding her attention.

"Things like that aren't important," he said calmly. "So let's not talk about it."

"Alright."

She didn't sound mad.

Disappointment. Hurt.

Somehow that was far worse than her misunderstanding.

Chest tight, throat locked, Seojun rolled his neck and stretched his arms.

Insignificant as he was, he was still here.

It must've been upsetting.

Visiting- but never truly answering her questions that came from a concern he wished she didn't have.

Yet she tried, all the time, to show it. How much she cared.

It was crippling.

She was younger. That was his job, not hers.

All these years- he wished she could understand.

The white, blue-ribboned box.

The simple square card inked in his name.

His birthday wasn't until July. Christmas had passed. He had received gifts from both his sisters and his aunt. He had thrown his dad's away.

Why did they gift things?

For what purpose?

Didn't they know they were digging the knife deeper?

Didn't they know by now he would rather let it bleed than address it?

Their money was better spent.

But he couldn't, no Seojun wouldn't, tell them to stop. The faces of distress, their sadness- what he would cause them- wasn't worth his own feelings.

This place away from home.

Far away from home.

He wanted to return. To where they were before.

But it wasn't possible.

Few things were anymore.

The sooner they all accepted that-

"I was thinking of the mountains."

Seojun paused.

He glanced over shoulder, slowly, to where his sister sat. Her eyes had never left him.

Someone who knew too much. Someone who knew too little.

Mild, clear and thoughtful. Older than her years. Determined.

In moments like these, she was unrecognizable.

No. Too recognizable.

He saw in her their father- and resented it.

Resented himself.

At long, long last, when the silence grew taunt and thin, he asked her.

"Why?"

"I had a memory last night. And again when I slept. I woke with it in my head."

"All of a sudden."

"I've been thinking about stuff like that a lot."

She tilted her head. Her eyes fell to the books on the table.

"Mom and dad. Our sister."

"Why?" he asked once more.

"Because they're our family."

"You can't go back."

"I know."

He frowned. "You can't see the mountains."

She sighed. "You don't have to tell me that. I know, oppa. It was a thought."

"Did something remind you?"

"I don't know. It's harder to see snow like that in a place like this. It's warmer here. I miss it."

"You're saying-" Seojun faltered. "You miss doing those things? You miss them?"

Hana eyebrows pinched, lips turning, twisting down as she heard his words. She continued to look at the books and the table and the note she had scribbled hours earlier as she yawned, waking up.

"Of course I do. I love them. It was their favorite spot."

That place.

That tree and spot on the hill.

Seojun's eyes grew large. "Who cares if it was?"

Hana looked up at him, startled.

He mirrored her expression, bewildered.

Heat suffocated his lungs, sudden, harsh and burning. "Who cares?" he said again.

His breath rose in his chest- and refused to go down.

"How can you still talk about them?"

Hana's eyebrows furrowed lower. "It's a memory. My memory. I'm allowed to have it."

"You can't."

"I can."

She spoke as though she were older.

In her voice, again, he heard their father.

Certain.

Arrogant.

Calm.

"It's alright that I can, and it's alright that you can't."

Seojun touched his forehead.

He closed his eyes.

It was hers- his sister's. She was allowed. That wasn't his decision to make. He was older. She was younger. What she wanted, she could have.

They were not the same.

 _Remember,_ he scolded himself harshly. _Knock it off._

The good things.

They were Hana's to cherish.

Not his to ruin.

He re-opened his eyes.

The desperation in his mind, the furious storm of grief and anger drowning down his words- he held them- abruptly. He broke the folding walls and pushed them away.

Hana who loved. Seojun who hated.

_They were not the same._

"I'm sorry," he said somberly. "I can't. I'm sorry that I can't."

As much as he had built himself and worked, he was the same, unchanged, incapable and small.

He sat on the edge of her bed.

He rose and went to the door.

He stopped.

_What are you doing? Embarrassing._

This wasn't what he wanted.

This wasn't why he had come to see her.

But.

Seojun turned around and faced his sister, frowning. "Would it be better if I stopped coming?"

His sister, having shifted sideways in her chair as he walked by, pushed onto her feet, looking up at him, disparaged. "What are you saying? That's nonsense. You don't have to go."

"I should."

"No," she refused. "Tell me what I did wrong. How did I hurt you, oppa, so that I don't do it again."

Her brother's shoulder's sagged. He looked from her, ashamed. "You didn't do anything. Ignore your foolish brother this once, okay?"

Hana, this once, wouldn't.

"Please," she said. "This is important."

She took a small step his direction.

"You're important."

If he wouldn't take the books. If he wouldn't take the thoughts of family and the warmth. Let him take this. 

_Please._

Something must've shown on her face- because he did.

Still so ashamed- he did.

"It's hard for me," he told her. "I'm trying, but I don't understand it sometimes. How can you still love people like us? It doesn't make any sense. How can you say you miss them? How did they help? They made you like this and left."

The reminder didn't sting.

When it had first happened, she hadn't given herself time to acknowledge that it had. She had denied the reality because recognizing the truth had been enough to drive her mad.

It wasn't painful.

It was crushing.

Crushing to her heart and the very breath to her lungs.

These people, at the time, had given up. They had chosen not to care.

It hadn't been born from hatred. Not for all of them, and she understood maybe more than they thought she did.

They wouldn't know of the many moments she had chosen to give up.

Seojun wouldn't know. He couldn't. The one who had stopped her, unknowingly in the end, was him.

How it would break him if he learned the truth.

She was just a kid. So why did she feel so worn?

How could explain she was too young and too old to hold onto bitterness and fears anymore?

There were things she hated. There were things she loved.

She'd rather seize the warmth than let it dwindle to cold.

"There was bad and there was good," she spoke at last. "And there were things that were both. It's easier when I think about the good. It doesn't feel like so much is gone. I had friends. Family was there."

"But how is that better? You're living a lie."

Her brother looked distraught as he sounded.

His composure was slipping- as was the own lie he lived.

"There are things you should let go of. Things you should say goodbye to. Holding onto them does nothing. It'll remind you of terrible things. Especially the things that hurt you."

"So would you let me go?"

Seojun shut his mouth.

"You wouldn't," Hana said. "You haven't." 

Her brother shook his head.

Hana smiled sadly. "I might not have many memories. I might not see them the same way you do. They're there. I can't get rid of them yet."

They were hypocrites.

They were both the same.

Getting rid of what was loved. Keeping close what brought pain.

What was loved and brought pain was equal in the equation written in the lines of their palms.

Hands that held and pushed away.

The brother who defended her. The brother who had wept for her. His arms and his scars.

He'd do anything. He'd done everything. To keep her safe from harm.

If she were capable of more, if her strength was _more_ -

She could protect him too.

 _Frustrating_.

She disliked herself too much.

"I failed a lot," her brother said in the silence.

His distress, as she watched, melted, eyes hardening although his features greatly softened.

Kindness and strength.

Seojun straightened, seeming to grow a bit taller. "The mountains and your memories, those that make you smile and make you happy, I want you to remember them for a long time. I want you to see them soon."

He stopped for a moment.

Thought something over.

Reached for the door.

"Those are the kinds of things a good brother would probably say. Except I haven't been one for a long time. So I can't accept it."

He didn't look at her again.

"The guy you pretend is your dad is waiting for you to die. Mom doesn't care. Noona isn't here. I'm the only one, but I'm useless too. I'll do what I can. I'll do what they can't. I'll do anything but tell you that this is okay. I hate them. I hate that you love them."

The words- they wouldn't come.

Hana felt them in her throat.

Her brother opened the door.

"Wait," she managed.

He did.

His back stayed turned.

Wait.

It didn't make sense. She hadn't forgotten- what was the reason-

"Why did you come to visit me?"

"...No, it's not important," he answered softly. "I'm sorry I made you cry. You're shaking, so get some rest."

Hana touched her face, alarmed.

Breaking, Seojun left, without another word.

All that was left of him, the parts of him that knew life and joy- they had been given to her long ago.

His dreams. His hopes. His future.

She just didn't know. 

* * *

The sixty-fifth floor.

The view of the cityscape swept beneath a sky stunningly blue.

His office was not simply an office.

It was the entire half of the floor, pointing towards the sun.

White walls, glass decor, marble and steel. On the pale stone floor, the navy, round carpets stood out. His bookshelves on the wall, numerous and filled.

A vase of wilted hellebores rested on the corner of his large, dark-wood desk.

Papers and pens.

Computer and files.

He stood away from the responsibilities, the menial tasks, the unwanted, unnecessary words.

At the wall of windows, he gazed at nothing but the heavy-sitting clouds.

The knock, when it came, was booming thunder in his ears. The door opened.

Frowning, Yeongsu turned. "I didn't say you could enter."

His assistant, a father of two and steadfast husband, apologetically stepped in and bowed.

"That's alright," a familiar voice replied.

A young woman appeared through the doorway soon behind.

Yeongsu stared. 

His assistant offered both of them respectful bows once more- then departed.

The young woman glanced about the space, taking it in. She approached, footsteps echoing, slow as her eyes roamed from ceiling to floor.

Yeongsu moved from the window and stood before his desk, waiting for her to cross the distance on her own.

She dressed incredibly smart, not a wrinkle in sight, thin and sickly pale, her dark hair long and tied low from the nape of her neck, falling mid-waist.

A turtleneck and pencil skirt.

Tall heels.

A simple black purse, big and capable of carrying much, was held over her shoulder carefully.

Weariness in her face.

Still, she lowered her head and addressed him benignly.

"Father."

He tilted his chin in regards. "...Nayoung."

From her purse, she withdrew a large, manila envelope.

Of course.

Yeongsu took it off her hands, carefully.

His eldest daughter would not have visited directly otherwise.

She had been more than content with mailing from her residence to his own and speaking on the phone.

If she was here now...

"She's returned it?" he questioned aloud.

Nayoung looked at the floor. Her father's shoes were scuffed.

How long had he been pacing?

Quietly, quietly, she answered.

"She's replaced it."

Her father's fingers opening the envelope- stilled. 

* * *

On the rundown, splitting path by the riverfront, Seo walked alone.

His shoes scuffed the asphalt. Weeds broke from the rugged cracks in the stone.

He kicked a loose rock and watched it tumble off-road.

Vanishing in the undergrowth.

In the glow of the sun, a shadowed silhouette, he felt- more than ever- bitterly cold.

* * *

Yeongsu sat behind his desk. Stunned.

His daughter's face said everything. She turned from him, disheartened.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Illuminated by the light, Yeongsu held his head in his hand.

"I don't understand," he answered softly. 

* * *

It was snowing in earnest.

At least, it seemed like it was from the flurries upturned in the passing winds.

Seungmin batted his gloved hand in front his face, spitting the tufts of blown snow from his mouth.

"That's very unhygienic, Seungmin-ssi," his bandmate calmly told him. "But it's fascinating? Try making an animal with the fog from your breath."

"I'm not some party clown," Seungmin replied.

Hyunjin said nothing.

Seungmin looked at him.

Hyunjin looked back.

"Every time I think I know you, I'm wrong," he sighed, forlorn.

Seungmin returned the sigh with just as much disappointment. "That just means you're bad at reading people."

"No, it means you're annoying. Be straightforward, please? Why did you bring me out here?"

"I didn't bring you anywhere. You brought me."

Seungmin brushed aside the camera Hyunjin had been holding freakishly close to his eye. "Stop filming me," he complained.

What kind of angle had he been getting?

"Yes, alright everyone, we're ending the vlog here," Hyunjin acquiesced.

He shut the slender and sleek video recorder and tucked it into the nifty shoulder bag slung around his shoulder as Seungmin watched, double-taking as he registered the taller boy's words.

"Wait- what vlog? How long were you recording for?"

Hyunjin cocked an eyebrow. "I had it out all morning. Who did you think I was talking to? Didn't you notice when we were eating? Brushing our teeth?"

"I thought you were putting batteries in it."

"While in the bathroom? Pointing it at your face? Are you okay?"

Seungmin rolled his eyes. "I'm tired. I didn't sleep well."

From his lap, he offered Hyunjin a spare set of binoculars.

Hyunjin accepted it, humming. "You didn't sleep? I wondered at your mood. Your face looks tired too. You've got bags."

"Thanks."

Shoulder-to-shoulder, they sat on the tiny, square deck of one of four viewing towers, returning to watching the people meandering below.

"You seriously didn't sleep?"

"I did for a bit. Something kept me awake."

"What?"

"You guys. You kept tossing. Minho-hyung kept muttering. He flopped out the bed and I had to drag him back on. He didn't even wake up."

"Technically, you didn't have to put him back on the bed. You could've left him."

"What? Were you awake when that happened?" Seungmin exclaimed. "You could've helped- he weighs a ton!"

"No, I wasn't awake," Hyunjin coughed, very small. "And I'm telling hyung you said that."

He peered harder through his binoculars, as though it would further magnify his already super magnified vision. Ignoring Seungmin's suspicious glare, he muttered, "This is the worst spot for bird-watching."

Hyunjin moved his binoculars from two bickering grown-adults to a pair of sisters smacking one another with their gloves.

Was everyone at each other's throats nowadays?

He directed his enhanced gaze to the surrounding mountains and trees. "We should ask for a refund."

"No one would refund us anything," Seungmin responded. "The question we need to ask is why you thought we'd find any birds to watch on a bunny hill full of people."

"The brochure said there'd be birds."

"I don't know of any bird that would actively want to get run over by a pair of skis."

"It's listed as an activity. This is false advertising."

"Maybe you aren't looking hard enough." Seungmin turned his head, and by consequence his binoculars, goofy as he looked at Hyunjin and the tiny ponytail sticking from the crown of his hair. "There it is!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "There's the bird!"

Hyunjin put his palm over his teammate's face and lightly pushed. He lowered his own binoculars and rolled his neck.

It was sore- as were his arms and legs.

Minho's out-of-place tears and nonsensical mutters were one thing.

His rolling and punching in his sleep was another.

Hyunjin spent a majority of the early morning's black hours trying to put some distance between himself and his hyung.

Minho was like some sort of starfish-splayed magnet.

He found Hyunjin and his shins endlessly, without fail.

And just when Hyunjin had truly, _finally,_ fell asleep, Seungmin had woken him twenty minutes later to explore the chalets and commodities and 'wondrous' outdoors.

Which- to be fair- _was_ wondrous.

They had taken more than enough photos as content for their fans, despite it being only the two of them.

The daybreak, dawning air had been frigid and unbearable at first, but the sunrise had been gorgeous- breathtakingly violet and red on a halo of gold. Still pines and hushed cliffs, snow trekked across by deep and crunching steps.

Nature and quiet was good at bringing him peace.

All original intent aside, leaving the city to breathe in the fresh wind wasn't so bad.

All original intent recalled- he wondered if now was the best time to bring up his true concerns.

After lounging in the dining hall and playing a poor round of billiards, he and Seungmin had returned to their room to find Minho gone and Jeongin- unnaturally- passed out in bed, nearly invisible beneath his sheets.

Jeongin was an early riser- he and Minho both.

Hyunjin had gone over, not to wake him, but to study his younger friend's face.

Void of wrinkles. Void of stress.

He had removed Jeongin's phone from the nightstand and switched off the set alarm.

Jeongin could wake when he wanted to wake. He deserved the rest.

Besides, at the moment, Seungmin was the one he wanted to talk to the most.

Now that they had done all his friend had wanted to do that morning, he could say the thought he had been thinking since the night before.

So Hyunjin did.

"I know you know," he said. "Spill."

Seungmin glanced over. "What?"

His lashes were clumped and frozen.

Hyunjin did his best to brush the ice away without stabbing his friend in the eye.

"Why did we come here, Min-ah? Do you remember?"

"To find out what was wrong."

"Right."

Hyunjin gave up on Seungmin's lashes. He adjusted his bandmate's beanie and dropped his hand.

"I messaged Jae-hyung a bunch about what he and Innie were talking about. Since they were being so secretive with you even though you stalked them with Felix-"

"-it wasn't stalking-"

"-I figured I'd have a better chance. I said it could be important I know too, whatever they were keeping quiet, since we'd be out here on our own."

Seungmin straightened, visibly perking, eyes wary. "Did hyung get back to you?"

" _No,_ " Hyunjin snorted. "I've been on read from the very first message I sent. Anyway," he pat the side of his coat, casual, "I stole Jeongin's phone. If he's awake by now, he'll be busy looking for it, and that gives us time."

Seungmin gawked. "Is that the only reason you took it? That's terrible. He'll be worried."

"I bet."

Hyunjin directed his gaze to the bunny hills and multitude of guests equally struggling and having a good time.

Seungmin followed the line of vision. He couldn't see what Hyunjin saw.

What was it?

"Hyung talks to him," Hyunjin said a moment later. "That other hyung too. They've both been. For more than a week. Hyung and our leader-nim."

"Chan-hyung?"

"Mm," Hyunjin affirmed absently. "I went through Innie's messages, but they didn't make much sense. Jae-hyung's waiting for something to arrive. Chan-hyung is too." His eyes moved from the snowy hills and met with Seungmin's, keenly determined. "You met with Innie last night. If you looked at his messages, you could figure out what all the hyungs mean, couldn't you?"

Seungmin drew back, caught. "How did you know? Jeongin told you?"

Hyunjin rolled his eyes.

"He won't tell me how many socks he packed, that's how uptight he's being. You guys were running the water forever. Obviously you guys were talking. Me and you do that all the time. Innie told you stuff and that's why you wanted to take pictures with me this morning- to tell me stuff too. Hyung gets up early to do his own thing. He wouldn't join us for pictures. You knew that when you asked. So."

Hyunjin looked at Seungmin, certain.

"What did you want to say?"

Seungmin diverted his gaze.

The shoelace on his left boot was untied.

He went to fix it, struggling to reach properly in the thick layers of his clothes.

Hyunjin wasn't wrong.

It just caught him off-guard how perceptively blithe his friend had been acting the duration of the night before and in the morning- holding those suspicions.

Yes.

He sought to share what he learned from their youngest member. Initially- that was his goal. But...

Lying awake that night, hearing Minho and Hyunjin talking- not as quiet as they believed they were- he had wondered if he was in the right.

If any of them were.

Assumptions and intrusions.

They were grasping at straws, digging, as if they were somehow justified to up-end the dirt carefully encased over the grave Minho had willingly lowered himself into.

Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, they didn't know the truth.

They could act on their feelings. They could join together and rise up-in-arms. But what had it done so far, except tear them apart?

Speculations and confessions.

Jeongin had sat on the pulled-down seat of the toilet that night, in the bathroom, and admitted.

Swallowing.

Forcing out the words.

_"Hyung. The day we found him in the building. On the floor. Something was wrong. I was there first. I saw it first. When hyung fell- I went in. ..._ _His skin was so cold. I was at his side, on my knees. I touched his face. It was freezing. He was covered in sweat. I shook him- but he wouldn't wake. His eyes... they barely opened. There was nothing in them. I couldn't-"_

_Seungmin listened, raptly._

_Jeongin lowered his eyes and stared at his palms, the sound of rushing water surging in his ears._

_A storm._

_"He couldn't see. I don't. I don't think he could. He wasn't awake. He wasn't anything. I thought he was dead."_

_He squeezed his hands together and wrung them tight._

_Terror._

_He had cupped his hyung's pale, still paling face._

_Panic in chest. Panic stealing his breath._

_His words. His frightened, trembling,_

_"...Hyung?"_

_Minho's heart had been calm._

_The signs of fainting- Jeongin knew them._

_The aftermaths, the causes._

_But in the van, all seats shoved down, Changbin and Chan ordering him_ out- 

_Changbin ordering_ Chan _out-_

_Their leader refusing, the short argument, their manager breaking it apart-_

_Jeongin knew that hadn't been it._

_Minho had thrown his phone._

"Is it so useless? You bastard! Look at what you've done!"

_This hyung who cared for others._

_This hyung who smiled unburdened while burdened, who cherished his most loved ones, whose heart bled for unknown ones, who couldn't keep the exhaustion so well off his features anymore as the days grew tougher and stress wore him thin- that hyung- his hyung- lied as still as one already buried in the grave._

_Seungmin couldn't understand, no matter how Jeongin explained it._

_Because Jeongin, himself, didn't understand- and he had been right there._

_The previous parts of the conversation, the fit of rage seizing Minho, genuine, heated, raw._

_Jeongin had_ seen it.

_The dizziness and confusion. The buckling legs. The struggle to stand again._

_More than that, he had seen the expression on Minho's face._

_It haunted him._

_It scared him._

That. 

_How to explain_ that? _"_

_Jeongin?" Seungmin asked quietly._

_His youngest bandmate, minutes after he spoke, tore his gaze from the tiled ground. Waiting._

_Seungmin forged ahead._

_"Will you tell me why you came here? Will you tell me what you know?"_

_Will you tell me how I can help?_

Seungmin hadn't asked the last question, but he knew it had been heard.

Except knowing what he did now, knowing what Jeongin actually intended to do- could Seungmin do it?

He didn't know.

Out of his element.

At this fancy lodge, far from the dorms, far from his home.

Rather than encourage Hyunjin's antics and Jeongin's plan, he wanted to stop them.

But how much power did he have? How much impact did his voice hold?

They wouldn't listen. No matter what- they wouldn't.

Seungmin didn't want to. Yet he'd have to do it.

He'd have to act on his own.

Despite his reassurances to Jeongin.

Despite his partnership with Hyunjin.

 _Sorry guys...._ he thought reluctantly.

He finished retying his boot, letting it hit against the side of the viewing deck and hang above the ground.

_This time, I'm keeping hyung safe._

"Are you ignoring me?"'

Hyunjin's utter was abnormally soothing to Seungmin's ears.

"I'm not ignoring you," Seungmin answered, calmly. "I was thinking."

"About what to tell me?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"Well..."

"Don't be shy. Share with the class," a third voice, completely at ease and playful behind them, spoke. "I'm getting impatient."

They absolutely jumped.

Seungmin gripped the nearest wooden post to stop them both from plummeting off the deck. Hyunjin yelped and seized his arm.

"That seems dangerous. Take it easy," Minho advised.

He laid on the planks on his back, one hand on his stomach, the other tucked comfortably beneath his neck.

He didn't look the slightest annoyed or mad. He looked _cozy_ \- as if he had been there for a while- and that scared Hyunjin more.

His bangs were tucked neatly beneath his snow hat, something frilly, patterned, like a sock.

It wasn't anything he owned.

Hyunjin gave him a once-over. None of the attire his hyung wore was something he recognized. An unfamiliar, black, padded coat, snow pants, boots, two hats, thick-strapped winter gloves.

Hadn't Minho brought his own clothes? What did he go and rent random ones for?

Whatever. That really wasn't important. Not as important as-

"How long were you there for?" Seungmin asked in Hyunjin's stead, just as perturbed.

"Me? I just got here." Minho's voice was incredibly, musically flat.

"Liar," Hyunjin muttered.

Minho abruptly sat. Hyunjin and Seungmin jumped again.

Minho lifted a brow. "What?"

They remained still.

Minho's brow lifted further, arching high.

His mouth twisted in good humor.

He got to his feet, revealing the three ski bags he had carried up the viewing deck with him.

"It's a waste if you sit here all day. There aren't really any birds." 

Seungmin and Hyunjin exchanged a glance.

They crawled to their knees and then to their feet, mindful of the open deck and the close fall at their heels.

Reluctantly, they shuffled closer to their hyung.

Minho smiled. Whether it was because he was plotting something or largely amused by their suspicion, neither of them knew.

They didn't exactly want to either.

Hyunjin frowned as he searched Minho's face. The older boy's nose was red, his cheeks were pale, yet there was heat radiating from his skin. Hyunjin took off his glove and placed the back of his head against his friend's brow.

"Where were you?" he asked.

Minho, surprisingly, didn't make a fuss about being touched. He leaned into Hyunjin's knuckles, contemplating. "I had a workout. Then I got lost."

"You got our skis?"

"I.N. wasn't in the room when I went. I was gonna ask him to come with."

"He wasn't there?" Seungmin frowned.

Minho's attention waylaid onto him. His eyes grew half-lidded.

They weren't accusing. They weren't all-knowing.

They were dark, and Seungmin couldn't read them.

That's what disturbed him most.

"No," Minho answered at length. "He wasn't there."

Seungmin felt it.

The swell of words on his tongue.

The desire, then and there, to grab Minho by the arm, drag him somewhere- _anywhere_ \- and have his hyung confide in _him_.

Forget playing and picking sides.

If he could, objectively, let Minho know what was going on- Jeongin's ideas and Hyunjin's- their hyungs, their team- _surely._

Surely Seungmin could make it work.

He and Minho were opposites. They disagreed and bickered and stepped on one another's heels when they spoke.

Yet they had faith in one another- and more crucially- trust.

Seungmin couldn't lose that now.

They were the two who best handled problems on their own. Who could see the bigger picture, a third perspective, the potential possibilities ahead.

While Seungmin planned for them, Minho let them come. But the view they saw was the same.

Seungmin was certain Minho knew.

If there was anyone who would take his side and tackle the issue together, Seungmin would be the one.

The others would deter him. The others would let the problem unfold and grow, waiting, pushing in all the wrong ways, just because Minho would've told them to leave it alone.

Seungmin never listened to his hyung well. He wasn't planning on starting now.

Encouraging anyone's antics was useless.

He would get to the problem and solve it. Without being 'right' or 'wrong', that was what he could do.

"Hyung," Seungmin started. "What you heard us talking about..."

Minho searched Seungmin's face, his own blank. "I didn't," he said. "Unless you want me to say that I did."

If neither Minho nor Seungmin acknowledged it, Hyunjin wouldn't either.

Rather, he couldn't.

Because they wouldn't budge.

There were no walls stronger than those Seungmin and Minho knew how to build and hold.

"Oh," Seungmin said. "So you didn't hear."

He was dismissive as Hyunjin glanced at them baffled.

He took one of the ski bags off Minho's hand, not particularly caring which one was his or Hyunjin's. They had paid equal prices.

"If we're here, we should be trying to use these or something. If Jeongin doesn't find us, we can go get him."

Seungmin glanced over his shoulder, regarding Hyunjin a bit. His same-aged friend narrowed his eyes, accusingly.

Seungmin shrugged.

He nudged Minho in the chest with his elbow.

"Hyung, you want to ride the lift with me?"

Minho considered more than the question. He was assessing Seungmin in his entirety.

Maybe he recognized some part of Seungmin's intent, because he relaxed- incrementally- and snorted beneath his breath.

"Ride with you? I'd rather die."

Seungmin held the retort that wanted to escape- tightly in. He slung his newly-acquired ski bag over his shoulder and headed for the long ladder past Minho that led to the ground.

The wooden deck creaked underfoot. The structure rattled in the wind, a gust sudden and strong.

He caught himself.

"Don't take too long. This thing might break," he commented placidly to his bandmates.

Hyunjin watched Seungmin and his ridiculously shady-self disappear down the ladder rungs.

What the hell had that been about?

Not only did he completely avoid the question Hyunjin asked, he left the binoculars on the deck, irresponsible in a way he _wasn't_.

Hyunjin glanced at Minho. Huffed and bent to retrieve Seungmin's ditched, magnifying goggles.

He hung both sets of rented binoculars around his neck, then straightened and faced his silent hyung.

Minho hadn't moved, though his eyes were on a distance far-off to the side.

Hyunjin doubted he was looking at anything. His teammate spaced out so much, everyone around usually let him be.

Unless it was urgent or they were on a timed schedule, there was no reason to bother him.

Hyunjin was just one of the ones who actively chose to.

Their time, this time, in the present, was no different. 

"Ahjussi," he politely called, sweet and calm. "What are you thinking about, hm?"

Minho startled, small. His dark eyes on Hyunjin were incredibly bright- and hauntingly black.

The ski bag on his shoulder lopsidedly hung off.

Minho made no moves to fix it.

Hyunjin sighed.

What a helpless guy.

He crossed the tiny distance and went to adjust the bag himself. His hyung was, annoyingly, someone he wanted to take of.

Another wind hit the deck. Minho's features were crossed by shadows.

Snow blew from the rafters and the railings, stinging Hyunjin's eyes. By the time he blinked and sputtered them away, the expression his hyung wore was gone.

Hyunjin paid no mind to whatever it had been.

Probably snow in his face too.

"You really didn't hear us?" he questioned.

"I climbed up and lied down," Minho replied.

It didn't answer anything.

Hyunjin didn't care to believe him.

He tightened the strap on his friend's shoulder- then tied the strings beneath Minho's floppy hat, knotting them loosely in a bow. "Wow," he mused. "You look so cute. Like a cabbage."

Minho sucker-punched him in the gut. He left his hat tied, however, and waited for Hyunjin to stop pretending like four of his ribs had broken before he spoke. "You guys had breakfast? Did you explore everything?"

"We explored. It was fun." Hyunjin rubbed his tummy, wondering how fast he'd be able to get away if he punched Minho back.

The fall didn't seem _too_ far down.

He could probably toss himself off the edge behind him or flip off a rail in the case of certain life-or-death that would follow.

"Mm."

That was it. That was all Minho said.

Hyunjin raised his brows. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What were you and Seungmin sharing glances for?"

"Sometimes we like to look at each other's faces. It's nothing special."

"I doubt that." Hyunjin wiped some snow off his chest. "He left us up here which was pretty silly. I'm going to ask everything. You know that, yes?"

"I know." 

"Good."

"But Hyunjin- ah." 

"Mhm?"

Minho looked him in the eye, sincere. "I like you."

"Yes, I know."

"No."

Minho grabbed his hand. Their gloves were clunky. Their warmth of their palms couldn't be felt.

He studied Hyunjin, carefully, with great thought.

Hyunjin stopped.

The weight in friend's gaze was unfamiliar.

More than heavy.

Deliberate.

Wind howled in their ears.

"I like you," Minho said once more. With purpose. Something underlying.

Hyunjin opened his mouth.

Minho pulled him into a great, big hug, the top of his hat tickling Hyunjin's chin. He waddled them backwards, just a bit.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm grateful. You're really one of my favorites."

Hyunjin dropped his eyes to the crown of his hyung's head, bewildered.

The hug.

It didn't hurt.

As tightly as he was held- it didn't hurt.

Steadying. Calm.

A hug that needed no return.

What was the reason?

"Sorry," Minho said.

Hyunjin blinked.

Minho stepped back.

He smiled, cheeks blistered, nose red.

Full of blooming love.

"Don't take it personally."

With a hand, he shoved Hyunjin off the deck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tiring and busy week- I hope my dear readers were able to give themselves a good break and rest. Stress is no good when it lingers. Stretch and shout it out 💪 Step away from the things that burden and overwhelm you. It's okay! You and yourself come first. Much love, friends 🤗 
> 
> Here are some links I said I would drop to some familiar/unfamiliar songs anime/j-music fans might find interesting. to the story- 😏😏😏😏😏😏  
> i kid
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40dJS_LC6S8&list=LL&index=20&ab_channel=%E3%82%A6%E3%82%A9%E3%83%AB%E3%83%94%E3%82%B9%E7%A4%BE
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqrmr711rm8&list=LL&index=21&ab_channel=%E3%80%8C%E6%B0%B8%E9%81%A0%E3%80%8DEIENMUSIC
> 
> Bro why are these links so long-
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7VktWxu6Wk&ab_channel=NatanaelA.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OOjwimrLs1Y&ab_channel=karasutaa
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kq8P71fvl0U&ab_channel=%E5%A4%A9%E6%9C%88-%E3%81%82%E3%81%BE%E3%81%A4%E3%81%8D-YouTubeOfficialChannel
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nG4o9P6iLdM&ab_channel=Jogurt-chan
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqpelI3SjmA&ab_channel=Kradness
> 
> For my non-anime fans and two songs with absolutely no relation:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5T8c5KKfbGQ&ab_channel=MrSuicideSheep  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhBkz7vXwis&ab_channel=TrapNation
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RLLOEzdxsM&ab_channel=AlanWalker
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZIDNZh9U14&ab_channel=TheFatRat
> 
> I'd drop some rock, rap, kpop and heavy metal too- but I don't really know if that's to anyone's taste but my own 😂🎉  
> Have a good night everyone.
> 
> OH! And for my tolkien fans: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uE-1RPDqJAY&ab_channel=AaronHardbarger


	12. |The Lotus|

* * *

Twin stars.

They crossed the nighttime sky.

Winter on their heads. Winter in their hands.

The aurora, purple, starry, green- sparkled white and fell.

Minho didn't cheer.

Minho didn't point.

He brushed his bruised and battered knuckles beneath his bloody nose and wept.

"You were wrong." 

Sound broke from his lips, shuddering puffs of frosted air.

His friend stepped forward. Minho stepped back. 

"I was right," Seojun told him. "I always was." 

In the park, on the hill, their silhouettes burned orange, shadows nebula blue. Lamp-lit benches. Ice-crowned trees.

The park's winding, frosted path was precarious and unclear. 

They were young again. They were here again. 

The cold squeezed Minho's lungs. 

He shook his head and growled, heat in his eyes and on his tongue. 

"You have to take it back." 

"I made a promise. So did you." Seojun wiped the corner of his bloodied mouth roughly, eyes shining. "This is what you chose. This is what _I_ chose."

"It was a _mistake._ " 

"It was a choice!"

Seojun yelled it loud.

Minho dug his nails into his palms. He brought one hand to his forehead. It ached, thunderous, painful as the rawness in his throat. 

Seojun's voice lowered, furious and distraught. "I told you not to. It's your fault. You don't listen."

Dizzy. Warm.

The glow of the park lamps were like swelling flames of a fire- blazing, bright, too strong. Nauseousness rose.

Minho's ears were blistered and numb, hearing nothing- knowing nothing- but the tumbling, snowy wind. 

Here was the ocean. 

He was in it again. 

Darkness spotted his eyes. 

"How do I make it stop?" he heard himself ask. He was slipping. He would fall. 

"You can't." 

Seojun's was certain. 

They were ten-years old. 

They were twenty-one.

Here, together, they were sixteen-years old. 

Yes. That's right. They should've never met. 

There was a cage, looming, waiting and ready to drag them swiftly under. 

Seojun had always known better. 

Good things never came to those who waited. 

He knew. 

He knew, he knew, he _knew._

But sometimes they did. 

When they were prayed and wished for, at death's door, they _did._

These precious things again. 

Who could let it?

Who could let them slip away?

* * *

Jeongin couldn't find his phone.

He had turned a majority of their suite on its head, at first slow, until the realization that it wasn't 'here' became more and more apparent.

The sheets and the pillows. The rugs and the curtains. He had dragged both mattresses as far off the bed as he could without breaking his arms. Soft as they were, they weighed a ton.

Trying to lift them to peer underneath was an ordeal he never wanted to live through again.

To his confusion, Jeongin had woken without an alarm. He had woken alone. His hyungs were gone and the room emptied- and for a good while he'd been convinced he'd been slipped something in his food somehow and then abandoned. Except he felt _great._ Well-rested and relaxed. That feeling of rejuvenation had grown, as he had rolled from the bed and begun to move around. Still sleepy, he had stretched in the morning glow, for once, lazily, yawning loud. Then he'd walked around the wide bed to grab his phone from the nightstand. 

Which- hadn't been there. 

The calmness had been doused in panic. 

The panic had swelled. 

Had he dropped it? He couldn't have. He obviously remembered holding it last night. 

With the rising questions, came the reminders that he and his bandmates were supposed to have gone to a lesson. Did they just... go without him?

Jeongin would've been more bothered if the matter of his phone wasn't more pressing. He'd find his hyungs eventually, or they would find him. His phone, on the other hand, held valuable information. Apps and photos. Memories and passwords that couldn't be so easily remembered or replaced. 

So seriously- where was it?

He tousled his hair in blatant frustration.

The worst was that he couldn't call his hyungs to see if they had or where they were.

Maybe the front desk?

Driven to go, Jeongin went to clean himself up. He showered, brushed his teeth, used the bathroom and toweled his hair in record speed.

The suite was comfortably warm. One of his hyungs had turned on the heat while he slept. He was grateful for that- but if any of them had taken his phone, even as a joke- he was going to twist off their arm.

Jeongin stewed on that particular thought whilst tugging on a second layer of a dark, long-sleeved shirt. He stewed on them for so long, he wondered if his hyungs actually _had_ stolen and hidden it for fun. Or worse- on purpose- so they try and get a crack at what was inside.

He knew Hyunjin didn't trust him. That was why he and Seungmin had chased after them in the first place. 

Jeongin chewed on his lip. 

He decided. 

Probably, this once, an invasion of privacy was allowed.

Thus began a thirty minute in-depth search of his bandmates belongings. From their suitcases to their duffels, to their mini bags of bathroom products brought from their dorms.

There was nothing in Seungmin's suitcase except an overabundance of thick clothing and socks. Hyunjin's was more disorganized- extra camera rolls, pencils, a notebook with doodles, an Ipad, a wallet with cards but no money- all tossed in with some clothes and a second pair of shoes. Minho's suitcase was surprisingly light- although large.

Jeongin turned it on its side and sat on the floor, going through it with decreasing hope. A bust. Nevermind. His phone definitely wasn't in any of his hyung's things. 

A failed idea, again. 

As he was giving up, his hand brushed against an odd-feeling material at the very base of Minho's suitcase. He moved a hoodie aside and found a bag- black-felt, triple-knotted.

More body products?

Jeongin shook it. Items knocked inside.

Mildly interested, he undid the knot. Something inside felt rectangular and thin and hard. _If_ it was his phone, he would have to give Minho some serious credit. The effort that went into hiding it spoke volumes of dedication- and blatant evil.

He peeked into the bag.

His eyebrows raised.

Glasses?

Were those eye drops?

Some kind of tiny notebook?

A fancy, small, soft case?

He went to pull the curious-looking case out.

A knock on the door. Single, short and loud.

Jeongin jerked, sudden nervousness in his veins as surprise hit. He calmed himself quickly. He put the bag back in Minho's suitcase, zipped it and clambered to his feet, hurried.

His teammates would've just walked in with their keys.

Did cleaners come daily?

"Yes?" he answered politely but loudly, walking over.

There was a moment of quiet. Then-

"Apologies. I would like to ask if this is the room under Yang Jeongin?"

Feeling oddly as though he were in trouble, Jeongin opened the door.

A man, older and taller, features young, waited on the other side. His posture was proper, his face carved from stone, uniformed in black, hair neatly combed. The only indication that he was human was the unsure flicker of doubt in his beseeching eyes.

A worker? Security?

Jeongin straightened, feeling severely under-dressed, even though this was technically his room and he was allowed to look as horribly put-together and spooked as he wanted.

He introduced himself with manners. The man introduced himself back.

A security guard for the resort. Choi Chulsoo. He hadn't meant to intrude. He just had a question.

Where were Jeongin and his roommate, Lee Minho, visiting from? The city?

Apparently it was needed for their reservation file. It had been missed at reception.

Jeongin wasn't sure if it was true or not. Chan had been the one who filled in that basic information online. Maybe he had left that spot blank. Even if they had missed it...

Was it normal to send a property guard to collect the information?

Wouldn't it have been faster if reception called their room?

Jeongin gave the bit of information to Chulsoo nevertheless, not wanting to cause trouble. But his response only led to another question.

Were they often guests at the lodge's other locations?

No, they weren't.

When Jeongin said as much, Chulsoo seemed conflicted. For a face so inexpressive, his eyes gave everything away.

"I see." The security guard made an attempt at a smile. Stepped back and bowed his head slightly.

"Um. We aren't in trouble, are we?" Jeongin worried.

"No." Chulsoo spoke briefly, distracted. "Thank you for your time."

He started to depart- but held himself after one taken step- turning to regard Jeongin once more.

"...There is a woman here, a great one, who manages this lodge. You must be familiar with her."

Jeongin wasn't.

Chulsoo gazed at him for such a long time after, Jeongin wondered if he had somehow answered wrong.

Eventually, the guard nodded. He made his exit, wishing Jeongin a nice day.

Something uncertain curdled in Jeongin's stomach at the act.

He closed the door.

He went to return Minho's suitcase to its original place in the closet.

It felt heavier than before.

His phone.

Right... he should go and ask.

Jeongin frowned.

He stood for a moment in the large depths of the closet, surrounded by extra blankets and pillows and their luggage.

The uneasiness.

He couldn't shake it.

Had he just made some sort of misstep? 

* * *

Changbin was already in the studio when Chan arrived.

They had decided, the night before over dinner, to work on this 'so-called project' for their fans in the younger boy's workspace, as it was colder, a bit cozier and simple. His desk held less equipment and thus had more space. Good for spreading notebooks and lounging, brainstorming and thinking.

However, as Chan entered and closed the door, Changbin didn't greet him or react.

His friend simply sat in the swivel chair in front his darkened monitor, staring, pensive.

It wasn't like him.

It wasn't like him at all.

Such a serious look.

Chan didn't have it in him to feel anything besides resignation.

Changbin had been unusual for a while. Although it wasn't much of a surprise at this point, it was still disconcerting. With the exception of Jisung, _all_ his teammates had been acting like strangers. Changbin was a branch that, like Minho, merely deviated further than the rest.

Disappointing- in a way.

Chan stifled his frustration. 

They had _just_ spent the night before with Felix and Jisung talking about the inane, joking, cleaning, failing to make proper bracelets and producing broken rings together. Normalcy almost- _almost_ \- returned. Halfway in their grasp. Coming back to the dorms, they had ate and separated and hit their beds. 

Chan and Felix had been watching Youtube on Felix's phone in the hours of the early a.m. It had been sudden when Changbin had slipped off his mattress and disappeared from the room, but at the time, Chan hadn't given it any second thoughts. He had been more occupied with holding a conversation with Felix whilst surreptitiously checking his cell for the messages he'd been receiving all night from Jeongin and their manager-hyung.

But the minutes had slipped to an hour- and then another- two more.

Felix had fallen asleep on Chan's numb arm.

Changbin hadn't returned.

Five a.m. and Chan had wriggled his way from Felix's stone-heavy body to flop onto the floor and crawl out the door.

The hallway had been dark. The dorm had been silent.

Chan had searched and double-searched for ages before opening their dorm door.

Changbin had been on the other side, studying their lock. 

_"Whoa!"_ Chan had nearly leapt from his skin. _"What are you doing?"_

Changbin hadn't so much as flinched, flicking his gaze from the lock to Chan's face and analyzing it briefly. 

_"Nothing,"_ he had answered. _"We going inside?"_

And that had been that. No other explanation given. His behavior hadn't changed since.

Chan didn't get it.

If he had to start worrying about Changbin on top of Minho too...

He put on a friendly face and punched his fellow teammate in the shoulder. "Hey," he greeted. He dropped into the pull-out chair closest to the door, leaving the third seat in the middle of them empty. "Thinking any good thoughts?"

Changbin, dark hoodie and jeans, was looking at the shoulder Chan had punched in hard disdain.

So no-go on the good thoughts. Alrighty.

Chan noted the reaction. Easy on the jokes then?

He tugged on the collar of his fleece jacket.

Zipped it up a bit.

Silence. Complete silence.

Heavy silence in the air.

"So..." Chan began.

"We don't have to talk," Changbin ended. Direct. Unamused.

Chan couldn't help but stare.

Yeah, something was off. Unless he had done something atrocious in his sleep- which Chan was pretty sure he _hadn't_ \- Changbin's biting attitude seemed unfounded.

"Maybe you should sleep some more today," he suggested. "When we're done."

"No thanks." Changbin turned his attention away to his backpack on the desk. He unzipped it and withdrew a notebook, a pen and his water bottle- which he eyed warily before returning it to his bag's depths. "Are we getting started?"

" _No_." Chan kept staring, harder, at his friend. "Jisung's not here."

Or Felix for that matter. He wanted his Australian buddy to have the chance to write their lyrics. Made-up as this 'project' was, what went into it would still be good practice.

Changbin raised his eyebrows, and in complete seriousness, asked-

"Jisung's supposed to be here?"

What?

As if on cue, the studio door swung open and their missing side of three-racha entered, a bag slung over one shoulder.

"Sup," he greeted Chan, eyes falling on him first.

Chan, subdued, returned the greeting.

Changbin scoffed. _Scoffed._ And it wasn't joking.

Jisung paused in the doorway, perplexed. "...Sup to you too?"

"Come in," Changbin said.

Jisung did.

Chan observed, somewhat fascinated- but mostly concerned- as Jisung took the middle seat and dropped his bag to the floor. Almost _timid_.

Was that why Changbin was acting up? He and Jisung had gotten into a disagreement when Chan wasn't around?

_But when?_

Wouldn't he have noticed?

Chan tried to recall. He came up short.

Jisung cleared his throat. He questioned whether or not he missed anything, and when Chan said he hadn't, began offering suggestions for their project in earnest.

Chan was a little caught off guard by how quickly his younger friend was jumping in. It was like he'd been contemplating all night instead of sleeping.

"I mean," Jisung kept going on, invested, "not only our Stays are important, but people, all ages, all over. They have troubles and burdens. What if we made something like a comfort song? Upbeat. Kinda sincere? Good vibes."

It wasn't an idea Chan was opposed to. Mostly because he barely had ideas at all with a vast majority of his time and energy having gone to devising against Minho.

Apparently Changbin felt otherwise- and voiced it without issue. "Only 'kinda' sincere? I'm not surprised if it's coming from you. How far ahead do you think?"

Jisung turned his head quickly towards his friend. "Huh?"

"Changbin didn't get any sleep. He's cranky," Chan excused the third hand of their racha.

"I slept," Changbin refuted. "I'm just saying if you do something, don't do it halfhearted."

"I... wasn't going to?" Jisung said, bewildered, if not a little annoyed and hurt.

Chan himself was glaring at Changbin, rather stumped and astonished by the out-of-the-blue insult. "Did _you_ have something you wanted to contribute, Changbin?"

"Not particularly. You'll decide what we do anyway, right?"

And with that, Changbin turned on his monitor and his equipment, filling the studio with whirring machinery.

The worst part was how unbothered he sounded.

There wasn't any anger. There wasn't a hint of a scowl. He could've been discussing the weather.

"Uh- what the hell?" Jisung asked what Chan had been thinking. "You good or what, man? If we did something to piss you off, let us know."

"I'm not upset," Changbin said calmly, as if they were the ones acting strange. He took four attempts to log in, ignoring their growing mystification- and opened the wrong software.

He sat back and waited expectantly for them to move on and get to work.

Jisung looked between the screen and Changbin multiple times. Slowly, he reached for the mouse, exiting out and going to the proper one they'd been using for nearly a year.

When he took over navigating through saved, half-finished tracks, Changbin didn't protest. He simply watched.

Not up for talking anymore then.

Got it.

Chan and Jisung, shouldering wariness, sharing thoughts, shared one look.

Then got to work.

A whole hour and a half of their awkward session went and passed.

In it, they'd outlined the concept of a music video.

They discussed members and their potential parts even though there were no full lyrics or a certain track to put it to.

Jisung had offered a couple tracks he'd saved on his phone, but Changbin had steamrolled over them, pressing them for something new with an insistence he normally didn't possess.

To stop an argument from breaking, Chan had intervened, suggesting they take five and give it more thought.

So they were sitting in silence once more.

Chan was really, _really_ , getting sick of it. He could've banged his head on the desk and through the wall in the presence of all his members and he bet only Jisung and Felix would bother to try and stop him. And speaking of his mate- "Where _is_ Felix?"

Changbin, who had moved his absent gaze onto the notebook in his lap, tapped on a blank page with the back-end of his pen. "I needed something from the store, so I sent him," he said. His eyes rose briefly. "I guess he'll be back."

Chan lifted an eyebrow. "You... guess?"

He was sharing looks with Jisung again.

"What's that supposed to mean, buddy?" he posed in English on habit. 

Changbin understood easily. "It depends."

"On what?" Changbin offered half a shrug. His eyes were on his empty page and pen again. "What he does. It's not up to me."

Now he wasn't making any sense.

"But you told him to go."

"Yeah. I did."

Chan scrunched his face. Shook his head. "Hey." He shifted away from the desk. Studied his friend. "You sure you're not feeling off today?"

"I'm fine." Changbin stopped tapping his pen.

Chan felt like a part of himself was going slightly mad. Why wouldn't his teammate make eye contact?

For real.

What kind of mood was this?

Jisung had yet to say another word on it. Was he thinking Changbin would lash out at him again?

Chan tugged his bottom lip into his mouth, irked. How much of a matter was it worth pressing between the three of them here and now?

The decision was made for him when his ringtone went off. He took a look at the caller ID. Anticipation surged in his chest. He got out his chair and snagged his phone off the desk.

Jisung startled. "What's up?"

"I gotta step out for a sec, it's important," he said. "Give me ten or fifteen minutes. Think you guys can work those lyrics?"

"Yeah."

And Jisung answered- but he in no way looked comfortable being left alone with Changbin.

His eyes were pleading.

Inwardly, Chan grimaced and bid his farewells.

Aloud, he smiled and gave his thanks.

"Play nice. If Felix shows up, let him help too."

He looked at Changbin one last time. Changbin ignored him. Chan huffed. He gave up, momentarily, and left the tiny room.

As he did, he heard Changbin ask Jisung- _bizzarely-_

"That anime stuff. You still watch it?" 

* * *

Hyunjin was alive.

No thanks to Minho.

And definitely not thanks to _Seungmin_ , who had merely watched him plummet twenty feet into a soft drift of thick snow.

Hyunjin spit melted snow from his mouth and wiped his eyes, ears and cheeks burning cold. " _Ya!"_

He yelled it to no one. He yelled it to everyone. He yelled to the clear heavens feeling like a massively disoriented ball of packed clothes.

He shouldn't have worn so many shirts and such a heavy jacket. He was having difficulty getting to his feet.

Passerbys snickered and didn't offer him a hand.

Hyunjin rolled off the drift and onto harder-packed, flatter snow, glaring at Seungmin fiercely. His teammate was relaxing in the shadows, using one of the pillars of the viewing deck for balance as he bent to adjust the four layers of socks tucked into his boots. 

_Fine._ Hyunjin would get to his feet on his _own._

And he did.

Crawling.

Perfectly uninjured but full of vengeance.

He kicked snow towards Seungmin. His friend batted it away.

Hyunjin glowered. He collected a mound of snow tightly in his palms- and charged.

Either Seungmin had gotten faster or the day was turning out to be one of massive misfortune for himself, because Hyunjin spent most of the impromptu chase tripping and sliding over his feet.

He had fallen to his knees for the fifth time, Seungmin shaking his head a few yards nearby in pity, when their demon of a hyung finally hopped off the last rung of the deck's tower and hit the ground.

Minho weaved between the tower's legs, eyebrows raised high on his forehead as he smiled. The air around him seemed brighter and less burdened before.

Typical.

All Minho had to do was get a one-up on Hyunjin and he was cheery as a clown. Nonetheless, his friend helped him to his feet, bemused, brushing what snow and ice flakes he could off of Hyunjin's outer clothes. His nose and cheeks were blistered so very red, skin roughened by the wind and weather.

Had he gotten paler?

Minho chuckled under his breath, oblivious to Hyunjin's tiny observations. "Did I push you?" he wondered.

What a weird thing to ask. _Ugh._ His hyung could be really irritating when he teased sometimes.

Hyunjin gave Minho the best stink-eye he possessed. "Why are you acting like you don't know? I'll get you back," he grumbled.

Minho laughed small. "Whatever." He was sure, somehow, Hyunjin had it coming. "What do you want to do?" he questioned. He sniffled, nose running.

He wiped his face on the other boy's sleeve and was kindly flipped into the ground for it.

As Hyunjin sat on half his body, Minho continued, curious, "I thought we had lessons. Did we skip them?"

Hyunjin scrunched his face. Seungmin joined them, an eyebrow lifted as he overhead.

"What are you saying hyung? Jeongin slept in and you weren't even around until now so we missed them, remember?"

Minho lifted an eyebrow right back. Not in confusion- but contemplation.

"Oh."

He patted and pushed at Hyunjin's thigh repeatedly.

Hyunjin grudgingly got off and helped his older friend to stand.

Minho tied the long strings of his hat beneath his chin, eyes a bit closed beneath the rays of the increasingly brightening sun. "That's a bummer," he said. "We didn't miss all of our chances though, right? We can still do something at noon or after."

"I mean... I guess?" Seungmin hid his puzzlement well. Was Minho acting clueless for fun? It wouldn't be the first time. "We have the whole day, don't we? I like a plan but if we already went off it, we should figure things out as we go."

"Good!" Minho came over and clapped him on the back. "I like the way you think for once. It's better to enjoy whatever we do. And we should test these out."

He tugged on the strap of ski bag hung on Seungmin's shoulder.

"Wanna go on the hills?" he asked them both.

Hyunjin didn't pout. He hated the word. He happened to push his lips out and turn them extremely down. "Right now? I don't care, but shouldn't we get Innie?"

There wasn't really a point in ditching their youngest bandmate if Seungmin wasn't going to help decipher the messages on Jeongin's phone. He'd have to interrogate Jeongin directly, later on.

Minho, however, out-of-the-loop of all their varying plans, merely unzipped Seungmin's ski bag. He removed one of them precariously.

Cheerfully. Clumsy.

The red paint of the rental equipment gleamed impressively against the paleness of the snow.

"Why do we need him?" Minho asked. "Is it important that you see him?"

Hyunjin crossed his arms. He had no idea why Minho was messing around with Seungmin's gear when their hyung carried the second pair of their rentals over his back. "Of course it's important. Why would we leave him out? Wasn't it his idea to visit to begin with?"

"It was. Because he felt troubled," Minho shared without reservation. "It wouldn't be a bad thing to let him sleep-in more."

He held the ski in his hand high into the air, pointing it like a sword. He swung it around, reenacting their MAMA performance in pieces- not at all acknowledging Seungmin's affronted ducking-maneuvers and yelps.

After a moment, he lowered the ski, expression nearly glowing- sanguine as his eyes and as his lips smiled.

"We can spend a little time messing around, can't we? I think that's fine."

Hyunjin found himself speechless.

Was someone this content, with this much youthfulness painted on his face, the same person who had spent the last few weeks in their dorm so sullen? On-edge, strained and tight-lipped?

Was this the same person who had shed tears in his sleep? Who held deep secrets in his words and actions, just the night before?

How could it be?

Minho must've read something in his countenance- because his smile slipped slightly and voice faltered, somewhat withdrawn. "Do you not want to? We could wait at the front desk by reception if it bothers you so much."

"It's not a problem for me," Seungmin said finally, swiping the ski from Minho lest it somehow break. "He'll be busy for a while anyway. Isn't that what you said earlier?" he aimed at Hyunjin with clear intent.

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes.

He wouldn't put it past Seungmin to expose that he'd stolen their maknae's phone.

" _Yes,_ he'll be _busy_ ," Hyunjin stressed. "Doing that thing."

"What thing?" Minho inquired.

"A thing," Hyunjin answered, vague.

Seungmin snorted. He slid an arm and hooked it around one of Minho's, steering his hyung in the direction of the bunny hills and slopes, downwards, close by. "We're ditching you!" he called over his shoulder.

Hyunjin thought about Jeongin.

Thought about whether it was worth arguing with the two on the importance of finding their abandoned youngest first in an unfamiliar place like this.

Then he thought about Seungmin being alone with their hyung- with free reign to say and do whatever he wanted in Hyunjin's absence- allowed to enact whatever plans he _undeniably_ had for Minho.

It didn't matter if Seungmin claimed he didn't. Hyunjin would believe they existed until proven otherwise.

So Hyunjin fumbled through the snow after his friends, hollering, holding his falling beanies onto his head.

"Don't just leave me behind!" 

* * *

Jeongin was almost glad he was alone.

Because he was beginning to get embarrassed.

Discouraged and embarrassed.

Huddled in the back of the grand lobby of the common-room chalet, where guests bustled and simultaneously de-stressed, Jeongin clutched the old-fashioned phone in the wall, waiting for his call to be answered by his hyung.

More than an hour. That was how long he'd spent trying to reach his leader-hyung.

Calling, waiting, walking and sitting in one of the nice couches of the lobby.

Getting up.

Walking over.

Calling again.

Was Chan caught in music-making? A discussion of some sort with management? Was he still in bed- _sleeping_?

Motivated and determined as his hyung could be, there was no one who slept in later than the trio of friends that resided in that room.

Jeongin's chances of getting through were already slim to begin with in his mind. He didn't answer unknown numbers himself, and he knew for a fact Chan, Jisung and Changbin didn't either.

Which was why he had given up on the trio entirely and put efforts towards his last hope of contact.

Once, faintly, he had entertained the idea of searching for Seungmin or Hyunjin, using their phone to reach the others left at home. But that tree of thought had been swiftly cut down- as he neither knew where they'd gotten off to nor want to deal with the questioning that was sure to come when he'd have to reveal he needed to talk with their leader. 

Jeongin scratched the back of his neck with his free hand in growing doubt and ire.

The dial-tone stopped.

A voice broke through, full of suspicion, coated in politeness.

_"...Hello?"_

"Hyung!" Jeongin exclaimed.

He got a few looks. He shirked, turning slightly away.

"Hyung," he said again, not quite as loud, but no less relieved.

Surprised, and equally relieved, Felix probbed, _"Jeongin- that's you? I thought it was a scam or someone questionable who got my number. What happened to your phone?"_

"I lost it." 

_"Is everything okay?"_

"No. I mean- yes. Sort of."

Even as he said it, Jeongin frowned. He was frustrated. Off-kilter. 

He didn't know why.

Hearing Felix- he suddenly felt uncertain.

There was a weight on his shoulders breaking. He'd been ignoring it for so long.

He was out of his depth. He was in a strange place.

His phone was missing. His teammates were gone.

No one had answered him for ages- and the first person who did was the one he'd treated the most careless.

_"Jeongin? You still on?"_

Jeongin swallowed. He nodded before realizing his older friend couldn't see. "I'm on," he answered.

His words were thick. 

_"_ _You sound a little off. Are you sure you're alright?"_

"Yeah. I... I've been feeling like a lot has been happening. That's all." 

_"_ _I see."_

Genuine concern. What had Jeongin done to deserve someone with such a good heart in his life? 

_"Is that why you went home?"_

"Hm?"

_"To see your parents. You and Seungmin and Hyunjin. Minho-hyung."_

Wow.

Jeongin had almost forgotten that was the excuse he had used. He hoped his stuttering words weren't as suspicious as they sounded.

"Oh- ah- they're fine. All good. We're, um, watching a movie."

The lie came reluctantly. He was sick of having to tell them.

He was tired knowing that he would continue to use them.

_"That sounds nice. You've seemed like you've needed the rest. I'm happy if you can get that."_

"Yeah."

Now that Jeongin thought about it, his last few moments with his hyung hadn't been on the best of terms.

He had raised too many barricades. Felix had hit too many walls and been repelled from too many locked doors.

It hadn't been fair.

In the turbulent days that had passed, Felix had stayed interested in Jeongin's well-being. Concerned.

He had prodded Jeongin so many times for answers to things unknown, Jeongin had gotten fed up and chosen to shut him out. But thinking on it now-

Were Felix's actions any different than Jeongin's own?

Wanting to know? Wanting to help? 

Jeongin had become like Minho.

Casting aside kindness. Refuting worry- too consumed in his thoughts. 

And that realization disappointed him greatly.

 _"I hope you find your phone,"_ Felix wished, sincere.

His voice eased into Jeongin's building self-judgement. 

_"And...well- I'm glad you called, actually. I... um. Listen. I've been thinking. A lot. Like you, I've been feeling that too much is going on. Things I don't really understand. I've acted without thinking more than once."_

Felix faltered. 

_"I guess I'm trying to say 'sorry', you know? For whatever it is. Whatever stress I might have given you. I'm sorry."_

Taken aback, guilty, Jeongin tried to answer. "No. Hyung- that-"

 _That isn't it_.

He wanted to say that.

But it wouldn't be truthful, would it?

In a situation like this, all he could do was apologize back.

"I'm sorry. I know we haven't been fighting. But it feels like we have. That- it's my fault too."

A thought occurred to him then, as he said those words.

"I was trying to reach Chan-hyung. Was he with you at all?" 

_"We were together last night for a little. We were supposed to work on a project but I haven't been able to meet with him yet. Changbin-hyung asked me to go to the store... Do you know about the project?"_

The fake project Chan had decided he'd make the others work on? Yes. Jeongin was more than aware.

"Yeah. I'm... seeing what I can contribute." 

_"I'm not sure any of us, Chan-hyung included, know what it's supposed to be. What did you need hyung for? When I see him, I can share."_

"Uhm. It's nothing that important, I think. I wanted to hear his thoughts on something." 

_"Alright. Then I'll tell him to call you."_

Jeongin started to agree before stopping. Felix awkwardly spoke the realization they came to together.

_"Right. You don't have your phone. What number are you calling from?"_

Jeongin had zero idea. Even if he gave a number, wouldn't it go straight to reception here?

It'd be a dead give-away he wasn't at home with family.

"I don't have it memorized."

_"But you memorized my number?"_

"I-" 

_"I'm kidding. Do you want to ask whoever's phone you're using what it is? I don't mind waiting."_

"Uhh-"

"Ahhh, so this is where you've been."

Jeongin lurched.

He banged his elbow on the thin metal of the phone booth's wall, fumbling the phone.

Minho caught it as it dropped.

His coat was wet, his hair mussed, skin flushed like he'd been running for forever. Crimson skis were tucked beneath an arm.

Jeongin almost doubted his hyung was real for a second.

The wire cord of the phone dangled in between them.

One corner of Minho's mouth turned up.

"I figured you'd be here. Hyunjin owes me ten-thousand won."

"Hyung..."

"Mhm." Minho's eyes crinkled. There was fondness in each word as he spoke into the phone's receiver. "Don't be reckless, Yongbok-ah. Pay close attention. If you miss us, eat something delicious." 

_"Wait- hyung? What-?"_

Minho cordially hung up. His hand, however, stayed on the phone. He regarded Jeongin brightly.

"Anyone else you want to call?"

Some part of Jeongin's brain was screaming.

He cradled his elbow. Stunned.

Felix- Felix hadn't known he was with Minho- had he?

"Were you trying to call Chan?"

Jeongin snapped back to focus at Minho's inquiry. At the lack of respect taken from their leader's name.

Minho tilted his head- expectant.

"No." Jeongin said it quiet as a whisper.

Had Minho been eavesdropping?

How did the older boy know it had been Felix on the other end?

Minho's left eyebrow quirked, humored. "You're not in trouble? What's with the reaction?"

"...He didn't know we were together," Jeongin slowly replied.

He watched as nothing crossed Minho's face.

Not surprise, not remorse- not an ounce of guilt.

"Oh, really? That's my bad." Minho moved from the phone, considering. "I actually forgot that." Lower, under his breath, he uttered- "it gets too confusing."

"What?"

"Nothing. Don't be so nosy." Kind as Minho's expression was, his words were sharp.

Jeongin fought the urge to snap that those were _not_ the words Minho should've been saying to _him._

Any gratefulness Jeongin should have been feeling at having reunited with his bandmate, was nonexistent.

Dangerous.

Jeongin wanted to retreat.

Minho studied him, eyes falling slightly hooded.

It was a familiar look- the one Minho had given when Jeongin had first cornered him in the alley of their dorm, bringing up the trip.

"It's interesting," Minho said after a short while. "Didn't you say you asked me to come so I could help you with your difficulties? But you're looking for that guy instead."

That guy. Chan-hyung? Why was Minho addressing him like that?

"I'd be hurt if I cared, I guess," Minho mused. He shifted the skis beneath his arm. When he looked at Jeongin again, there was detestation burning in his gaze. "You've really been busy. It's a shame you lost your phone. I'm sure it would've been easier if you had it."

"How did you-"

"Jeongin!"

He jolted.

Over Minho's shoulder, Seungmin approached, hurrying from the lobby entrance.

There was relief on his face.

He looked infinitely more put-together than Hyunjin, wiping his dirtied boots on the foyer carpet to the aghast looks of the receptionists and nearby guests. One of his gloves had gotten caught in his coat zipper.

Minho stopped looking at Jeongin, turning slightly to greet their fellow teammates. "I said he'd be by the desk," he said to Seungmin.

"Yeah, so you did," Seungmin answered. He glanced towards Jeongin- worriedly back towards Minho. "...Were you guys talking for long?"

"No. I was barely here a second," Minho fibbed breezily. "Does it matter if we were?"

"No."

Jeongin couldn't stop staring at his hyungs. What was... with their behavior? "You-" A different question left him instead. "...Where were you guys? You weren't in the room."

"We were practicing some skiing techniques," Minho replied.

As if he hadn't been confronting Jeongin mere moments prior.

"What techniques? You suck at skiing," Hyunjin jabbed, coming up behind his friends. He eyeballed Minho. "Why were you skiing right at me?"

Minho eyeballed him right back. "Why were you in my way?"

They bickered.

But Jeongin's attention wasn't on either Hyunjin or Minho. It was on Seungmin. Seungmin who had yet to stop scrutinizing him like he'd been up to no good.

_I shouldn't have told him._

Jeongin realized it belatedly.

He had shared a half-baked plan of confrontation to force on Minho, but it was just exactly that- a half-baked plan.

Seungmin must've taken it seriously.

How to clear this up? Could he grab his hyung alone?

Fate must've really been not on his side, because Minho shoved the skis he was holding into Hyunjin's arm- and sidled up to Jeongin, smiling.

"Let's get a proper jacket and covering for you. We should try to snowboard."

"Hyung-"

"C'mon. It'll be fun!"

"But my phone," Jeongin started to argue.

He didn't miss the exchange of looks Seungmin and Hyunjin shared.

Jeongin narrowed his eyes. " _Hey_."

Seungmin moved his gaze towards the ceiling.

Hyunjin latched onto Jeongin's other side and tugged him from Minho, shepherding them towards the lobby entrance so they could return to their own quarters in their assigned lodging. "That's a great idea. We should snowboard," he rambled. "You like that, right?"

 _"No_." Jeongin dug his elbow into his older friend's ribcage, none-too-kindly. "Where's my phone?"

"Nowhere. Don't worry," Hyunjin dismissed. "I'm sure it'll turn up. Eventually. You can blame Seungmin later."

...So Seungmin had it?

That didn't make Jeongin feel any more assured. Why had he taken it in the first place? For once he was thankful the only one who knew his passcode was Hyunjin.

He didn't need anyone reading his messages. Especially Minho.

Most _importantly_ Minho.

They stepped outdoors.

A frigid wind blew despite the clear, wide skies. Jeongin glanced over his shoulder.

Minho and Seungmin were following, chatting idly.

A conversation of no consequence.

The sensation of a looming omen had never felt more present. 

* * *

A cloud passed overhead.

Felix frowned.

He was swept in its shadow. Quickly as the darkness came, it left. The sun shone in his eye.

Well that was disconcerting.

He stepped into the fourth market of the morning. A cashier welcome him inside.

Felix smiled, wanly, and said nothing, hoping some part of his face that wasn't hidden by his hat or his mask would convey the 'hello' he meant to express. His legs made a beeline to where school and office supplies were regularly kept.

He was tired, confused, and Changbin's errand was beginning to be the biggest hassle of the day.

In the kitchen, as morning cracked through the windows, the older boy had found him rummaging in the fridge and given him a credit card.

_"Don't lose it. But do me a favor?"_

Changbin had asked it so strangely, so distantly, Felix had been mildly concerned.

Changbin had dismissed his inquiries. However, he had made it clear that he absolutely needed the two items he had requested.

" _Please don't return without them."_

If it was that important, Felix didn't know why his friend wouldn't get them himself. The excuse Changbin had replied with was that he needed to do something with Chan before they all met. He couldn't spare the time.

Felix had given him the benefit of the doubt and agreed. As a result, he'd had been wandering for the better part of daybreak, left with his thoughts and a mind that hadn't been able to decide what to feel.

The three stores he had walked to in the area didn't have what Changbin asked for.

He had spent forever in the aisles. He had even asked the clerks and followed them around to no avail.

Post-it Notes. The dimensions two-by-three. The colors pink and green and yellow. It needed to be a pack of three. A three-in-one, multicolored ballpoint pen. The color didn't matter but it had to hold only three colors. 

_"Don't get anything else."_

_"That's...really specific. Can't I substitute?"_

_"No. Don't."_

Felix had never seen Changbin so serious. He hadn't argued. If anything, he was kind of worried what would happen if he didn't follow through.

He'd never felt like that with Changbin.

Not since their early days of pre-debut- when they had all known little about one another- and when they both suffered under personal life griefs and crippling self-doubts.

Something about it was uncomfortable.

He could've sworn that the Changbin he encountered in the kitchen was one he didn't know. Maybe his hyung had slept poor. But as that troubled Felix, another happenstance occurred. 

Jeongin's call. Insistent. Urgent. Again and again and again.

Felix hadn't recognized the number and had first been on the verge of blocking. Something had told him not to.

But Jeongin, who was supposedly home- was with his parents and _Minho?_

Was that how it had always been?

Had Felix misheard Chan and Changbin the night before?

According to Changbin, Minho wasn't seeing his family.

Minho was supposedly getting himself looked at by a doctor in his hometown. He had been carrying an illness that only recently started flaring. Overworking and stress. It wasn't as a big as a deal as everyone was making it out to be, Minho merely wanted to keep it on-the-low, as he had handled it more than once.

Changbin had been pretty assertive that there was nothing they needed to do but keep one eye out in case their older friend needed some assistance later down the road.

Felix should've been able to believe that.

He had told Changbin- _'Oh. That's what this has all been about? Makes sense.'_

By all means it should've been the exact answer he was looking for. The explanation he and his bandmates had been seeking this long while. But there were flags in his head at full mast- waving red.

Because Changbin hadn't made eye-contact _once_ during the conversation.

Gods. What the hell was going on? Couldn't he trust _anyone_ not to lie to his face?

"This has to be a nightmare," he muttered aloud. "One that doesn't end."

A passing employee behind him, hair short and tied at her neck, hummed and stopped walking. "That doesn't sound fun."

Felix leapt the slightest bit.

The employee laughed apologetically as Felix turned. "Sorry. I couldn't help but overhear," she said.

There was a large, sealed box in her arms. It looked extremely heavy and awkward to hold, yet she paid it no mind. Curiosity, harmless and innocent, shone bright in her eyes as she glanced from Felix to the shelves and supplies he had been dismally regarding.

Her uniform was white and ironed, slacks grey, waisted apron black.

It gave Felix slight pause.

He wasn't too sure why.

"What were you looking for?" she wondered. "Maybe I could help."

"Um." Felix shook the uncertainty in his mind away.

He explained what he was looking for as best he could.

She contemplated briefly. Shifted the box in her arms. "I don't believe we have those," she said. "We have an eight-in-one pen and another brand that's a four-in-one. The Post-it Notes, the only dimensions we have are two-by-two and three-by-three. Two-by-three... I don't think they make those."

Had Changbin misspoken? Had he meant the two-by-two or a three-by-three kind?

Felix rubbed his forehead. An oncoming headache- he could feel it rising.

 _Why?_ Why was something so simple turning so complicated?

He had texted Changbin after his failure at the first store- making sure to clarify the exact items his hyung wanted.

He had texted Changbin at his sequential failure at the second store- asking once more if substituting was okay. The stern 'no' had been affirmed.

When he had texted after the third store, Changbin hadn't bothered to answer.

Felix had _assumed_ it was because three-racha was fully in 'production' mode. Now he was wondering if Changbin was pulling some sort of horribly unfunny joke in line with his horribly unfunny change in personality.

"Thank you," he said to the worker, pretty much dead inside. When he saw Changbin- he was going to dropkick him into a wall.

He rubbed his forehead again, eyes dropping to the floor.

The speckled, freckled, white-tiled floor.

Low murmurs. Florescent lights. People, life and noise. He was sinking. In something. In this.

Something far too great and far too unknown.

An ocean.

The bustle of the store was muted.

Calm.

Yet Felix couldn't stop staring at his shoes.

Green and white sneakers, shoelaces frayed and worn.

Hadn't he put black ones on?

"There you go."

Felix jolted and whipped up his head.

But the employee hadn't been addressing him. She was passing her box to a second worker he hadn't heard arrive- a boy with an undercut, dressed the same. The boy spared Felix the smallest of glances before vanishing down the opposite end of the aisle towards the back of the store and disappearing at the corner.

Burden gone, the worker smiled at Felix and said, "I should get going too. I hope I was able to help you a little."

Felix, an odd bout of nausea climbing in his throat, wasn't quite sure how to tell her she sort of hadn't.

So he nodded.

He turned to go.

His eyes dropped to his sneakers for the second time. Green and white.

Maybe _he_ was the one who hadn't gotten enough sleep.

Felix trudged his way through the aisles, past the check-out section, to the automatic exit and entrance doors. So fixated on his shoes, he failed to notice the person coming through.

The collision sent him reeling. He stumbled from the force, feeling a blast of air, rushing, scorching hot.

A hand gripped his elbow- and steadied him gently.

Felix apologized profusely. "I am _very_ sorry. That was my fault. Are you alright? I wasn't paying attention- please forgive me."

When he straightened, he found himself looking slightly up at a young man- possibly older- if not around the same age.

"It's okay," the stranger said. His lips crookedly offered an echo of a smile, dimple showing.

It would've been oddly reminiscent of Chan were it not for the vast differences in their appearance and the way they dressed.

Brown hair. A long coat and scarf. This stranger's face was kind, holding no offense.

Something nagged in Felix's brain.

_Familiar._

Fallen on the ground was a plastic bag, brought from another store. Its contents had spilled onto the concrete.

A spool of brown thread. A transparent cylinder of turquoise beads. A ballpoint pen. Sticky notes. Neon- pink and green and yellow.

Felix stared.

He could read the dimensions on the protective, plastic covering of the Post-it Notes clearly.

Two-by-three.

His thoughts weren't working. Not correctly.

"Is something wrong?" the stranger was asking.

"Uh. Uhm." Felix smacked his lips. He worked his mouth. He attempted to reel his thoughts into focus. He looked at the young man- who after a moment- gazed towards where Felix's attention had previously been.

"Oh!"

Something sheepish crossed the other youth's expression. He crouched, gathering what had fallen out and putting it in the bag with a tiny laugh.

The sudden action was so familiar it hurt. Felix couldn't _shake it._

"Minho-hyung?"

The stranger blinked through the floppy bangs of his evenly parted hair, still crouched as he raised his head. "Who?"

Mortified, Felix tried to backpedal. "Ah- um, no one. I was thinking- things. I was thinking out loud," he finished, feeling lame.

The stranger sprung upright, chuckling. "All good. I'm told I have a familiar face." He smiled, as if holding another joke inside. "Well, I don't mean to take up more of your time. Mind if I get into the store?"

Felix stepped aside quickly. "Yeah. I mean, yes. Sorry."

The stranger's smile grew. He bowed his head slightly at Felix, kindly, and went to enter.

Felix couldn't help it.

He spoke out.

"One moment!"

The young man stopped. He turned back around and waited.

Felix swallowed. Cleared his throat. He motioned, somewhat awkwardly, at the bag the stranger held. "Can... Can I ask where you found those? The notes and pen?"

If the other youth was put off by the question, he didn't show it. There was a light in his eyes as he regarded Felix.

"Ah. Did you need some?"

"I. Yes." Felix began fidgeting with his fingers. "I've been looking but..."

"You probably won't be able to get them around here," the stranger divulged. "They're kind of hard to find."

Felix deflated.

Great.

Now that it had been confirmed by two other people, he was going to go to Changbin's studio and tell him the sticky notes he looked for were practically nonexistent- and that if he wanted a pen so bad- he could order it online.

"I think I said something wrong," the stranger noted, amused.

Felix looked at him.

The youth broke into a full-dimpled grin. He offered the bag he held in Felix's direction. "Take this. That's a pretty sour look on your face."

Felix, astounded, tried to work the ugly expression he felt contorting his features into something less of a mess. "No. I couldn't-" he began to refuse.

The stranger stepped forward and pressed the bag lightly into Felix's hands. "That's alright." His eyes searched Felix's, thoughtful. "I don't mind. I know just where to find them if I ever need more."

He stepped backwards, winking. He pivoted on his heels casually and began to re-enter the store.

"Have a good day," he wished sincerely behind him.

Felix took a step- just one- the stranger's way. The newly-gifted bag in his hands felt like air.

It wasn't- ' _Do I know you?'_.

It was-

"Do you know me?"

The youth laughed. He waved a hand without looking, voice drifting as he fully walked into the market.

"Don't be silly. Your laces are untied."

On instinct, Felix looked down.

He stopped.

Ringing in his ears.

Felix's throat grew impossibly stuck.

His sneakers were jet black. 

* * *

On the corner of the street near their company's building, Jaehyun pulled up in his sister's car- dressed to the nine, hair slicked, jaw clean-shaven.

"Are we getting married?" Chan asked, climbing into the passenger side. "I didn't come prepared."

"My girlfriend asked me the same thing when I sent a picture earlier," Jaehyun responded, quirking an eyebrow. "I can't look nice sometimes?"

It wasn't that his hyung couldn't, it was that he actively chose not to, so the rare occasions on which he did- always brought some measure of surprise.

Chan wasn't about to pry into his manager's dressing habits. The car, on the other hand, was considerably odd.

He'd been under the impression the other man was only going to share what he had found over the phone- but Jaehyun had told Chan he was picking him up so ' _be prepared_ '.

Now his manager drove them, not in any rush, foreign pop songs playing on the radio enthusiastic and full of adlibs.

Chan had many questions.

He picked one.

Wary.

"Where are we going?"

"That'll be up to you," his manager answered.

They hit a red-light immediately at a crosswalk.

The sidewalks were ample in couples, friends and singles alike.

It was a great day to be out. The weather was practically perfect.

The inner-workings of Chan's life, was not.

"You're being as vague as Changbin," he griped. "I didn't know we'd be driving off."

"We are. Don't let too much shock you coming up." Jaehyun took the minute they were stopped to gesture at the glove compartment. "Grab the big envelope. The one tied brown."

Chan, not quite following yet, did as told.

He also found a bunch of trading cards, a toy pokeball and a torn-open bag of colored candy.

He cleared his throat.

"You saw nothing," Jaehyun said easily.

"Of course I didn't," Chan agreed. He unwound the brown string keeping the envelope closed. It weighed a ton. He peeked at the contents inside. "How many tournaments have you won?"

"Not enough," Jaehyun uttered.

"Mm."

Chan _may_ have dabbled in similar games when he was younger. His losing streak had been beyond impressive.

From the envelope he withdrew the biggest stack of clipped and labeled papers.

Forty- no- _sixty_ pages?

They were separated by neon pink, green and yellow tabs. Physiology, psychiatry, aide-de-camp. These were the labels.

Either the hospital was incredibly, super-organized, or Jaehyun had an interest in color-coding Chan had just learned about. Was it even possible to get stuff like this on such short notice?

Given the length of time it took his _own_ crap to come in through the mail, he didn't think it was.

The stoplight turned green and Chan spared his surroundings one minor glance before putting his focus entirely on what he held.

The pink tab first.

Body composition.

Conclusions of a full panel blood test dating ten years back and consequential results from new ones taken every year annually since. Hemoglobin, hematocrit, white blood cell count.

Twelve electrocardiograms, the numbers printed at the top meaning little to Chan but consistent. The pace of the heart itself appeared strong and stable, evenly paced.

There were results of an ETT- exercise cardio stress test- pharmacologic stress test, and an extensive tracking period of an ambulatory rhythm monitor. One that had been recorded for nearly half a year on four separate occasions.

Chan read the details of this thoroughly, trying to understand the notes of the multiple specialists that had come after.

He was no doctor, but from the looks of things, Minho's numbers were typical of a 'healthy male'.

Inconclusive. Negative. Not a cause for worry.

These three descriptions were the most common.

Chan moved on to the green tab. Less confusing, more straightforward documents waited there.

He took his time with those.

They were written observations and they were fairly dense.

Family interviews?

Accounts had been made.

From his mother, from his uncle and aunt. From a friend- someone named 'Haejun'.

The history had been explored concerning symptoms of mental illness. None had been found.

Six psychiatric evaluations. Schizophrenic and Psychosis analysis'. In different words, they all confirmed the same.

No diagnosis. Nothing beyond minor dissociation, bouts of anxiety and depression found in a vast majority of adolescent youth.

No cause for alarm.

However, one evaluation sought further investigation into the basis of the changed behavior noted.

They posed inquiry into the possibility of compartmentalized memory components. Ones that might have stemmed from a childhood trauma too great to bear. It would have occurred around the time period family and close friends had realized something great had changed in Minho's disposition.

Chan went back a few pages to find where he'd read it before.

At the age of ten.

Chan returned to where he'd left off.

He read deeper into the propositions made.

It occurred to him, the more he discovered, the more he _realized_ the sheer _depth_ of Minho's background and circumstances, that what he was doing was incredibly intrusive.

Wrong. 

Private pieces of a friend he hadn't asked permission to view.

Things of vital importance, _personal_ , he had brazenly stolen for his own gain.

He was viewing Minho through numbers and tests- outside impressions.

If someone did any of this to Chan, he'd feel betrayed and uncomfortable beyond words.

...But what kind of person did that make him?

Because he wanted to know _more_.

Why so many tests?

Why these evaluations on the state of his mental being?

These observations weren't sudden- and these were symptoms that hadn't come and gone.

They had developed. They had _stayed._ And they had given those closest to Minho sufficient cause to worry.

Chan flipped to the yellow tab and the papers past it.

Contacts.

Two local hospitals. A third in Gimpo. A facility of some sort located within inner Seoul.

Three separate addresses were listed- one in the city- the others in different locations between Minho's hometown and their dorm.

His mom was noted as the first emergency person. Four other names and phone numbers Chan didn't recognize had been printed underneath.

Hm.

Chan reread the huge gathering of files twice more, wondering if there was something more he could've been missing.

For all the information in his lap, it had given little definitive facts he could comprehend. He noted a bit of words he hadn't before.

He questioned aloud.

"His primary physician is here?"

Jaehyun took some time to answer, sounding occupied as he did. "He moved and lived by himself as a teen, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

Chan knew Minho was entirely self-sufficient, and that his teammate had been for a while. Chan wasn't sure why he'd been under the impression Minho's main source of care was closer to his family and his home.

At any rate, from what he was looking at, Chan deduced that Minho hadn't visited any of the hospitals, clinics or offices on record since he had joined with their company. In fact, a majority of the findings Chan re-analyzed had stopped at age sixteen.

They all had a secondary physician they shared under contract. If there were any changes or new examinations Minho had undergone, Chan couldn't know. The means to access them weren't as simple.

And it would mean moving themselves into the eye of the company- which was the absolute _last_ thing Chan wanted- given the company's track record on handling troubling situations.

Although.

Actually.

Come to think of it- Chan's expression contorted, bewildered.

"Hyung, how did you get all of this?" he wondered.

"You'd be amazed what dressing in a suit and tie and carrying a brief case can do for you. Holding credentials of a mildly wealthy and prominent company and waving some signed contracts around helps too. Now I know why business people feel so powerful. The clothes and accessories have some effect," Jaehyun answered.

Well. That explained the new look.

"I'm more concerned at what confidentiality means to the people you spoke with," Chan said. "I can't believe they'd give you _so_ much."

Really- he couldn't comprehend it. He furrowed his brows at the documents in his lap.

That couldn't have been _all_ his manager had done.

To go through such lengths, even dressing the part- what exactly had Jaehyun done?

What kind of leverage did he possess beyond company bounds?

One mystery after another.

Chan could feel a migraine ready to spring in the depths of his skull.

It was then- finally tearing his gaze from the contents in his hands- Chan noticed they were parked in the full lot of a Subway.

Jaehyun was finishing off a hoagie slathered in sauce, napkins everywhere.

Chan looked at his manager twice, baffled. "What?"

He glanced at the radio.

The time read near noon.

"What in the...?"

Chan glanced out the window, looking at the buildings and roads near them. They were far from the dorm. Near an interstate.

Was this a _rest stop?_

"H...yung?" he asked, in a somewhat strangled tone of voice.

"It's been a few hours," Jaehyun commented, not too concerned. "This is my second meal, by the way. There's a bag in the back with one for you. We've been parked for ages."

Nothing but flummoxed. Chan didn't believe it. He had been _that_ focused?

"Why are we so far out?"

"We'll have to hit that road," Jaehyun answered, indicating towards the interstate with what little stub of his hoagie remained. "There was no point in not driving while you read. That would've taken more time."

Chan frowned. "Okay, but why that road? Where are we going?"

"You looked at what I gave you."

"Yeah. Did you look at them too?"

"No. Didn't see the need. The staff I spoke with at both hospitals told me the same two addresses for secondary contacts. They're saved in the GPS. That's the extent of how involved I'll get."

"Are you saying you're not involved?"

"I'm a bystander."

"You're an active participant."

"Barely."

"Uhm. No- not barely-" Chan cut himself off, shook his head and evened his bewildered features out.

Then it hit him.

"Wait. Address? Are we going to one?"

"I'm assuming you'll want to."

"No I-"

He hadn't actually been thinking of doing that- it certainly hadn't been his first thought.

Further down the road, if he had been desperate, maybe he would've. He'd been thinking more along the lines of making a phone call.

What an out-of-place assumption for his hyung to make. His manager said he hadn't read the information in the envelope but-

"...Do you know something I don't?"

"Not in particular."

Yet Jaehyun kept his gaze on the view beyond the windshield- the small, square Subway- the few people hanging outside.

"It'd be good for you to be honest and tell me what you want to do from here. Is everything that was in there what you wanted to know?"

No.

The answer to Chan was clear.

He was missing too much. What he had was not enough.

How important was this to him that he needed to keep pressing forward?

How important was Minho's well-being that Chan would do this much?

Very important. That too- to Chan- was clear.

"Hyung. Why exactly are you helping?"

Jaehyun's gaze didn't move. He smiled, rueful.

"I'm thinking of the future."

Chan was too.

He took the last page of the documents his hyung had given. He put one of the numbers in his phone.

"I'm gonna make a call," he said. "Then I'll let you know, I guess, about that road."

Jaehyun unlocked the car door.

He watched for the briefest of moments as the kid slid out, mindful of the car parked beside them.

In the rear-view mirror, Jaehyun could see Chan slowly start to pace in the open space of the lot.

Chan jolted a little while after.

Jaehyun presumed the call had been answered. As his charge began to talk, he reclined in his seat.

Shutting his eyes, he basked in the sun- and waited.

* * *

It was a whole forty-five minutes later when Chan returned, perturbed.

He re-entered the car, phone in hand, silent.

Jaehyun kept his eyes closed.

Quiet sat along with them, heavy and thick.

Then came the sound of Chan blowing out air.

"Yeah."

He shifted.

"Yeah, I think we're gonna need to drive."

Jaehyun cracked open an eye. "Yeah?"

Chan looked at him, mouth pressed, the corners of his eyes pinched in dissatisfaction.

Alright then. Jaehyun sat himself up and turned his car back on, languid. The engine rumbled smooth. "Which address?"

Chan took Jaehyun's phone from the cup holder and put one in.

Two hours and twenty-three minutes away.

They were out of the parking lot and heading to the interstate in under five minutes.

Chan twisted in his seat and grabbed the bag of food his manager had bought before righting himself and clipping his seat belt in.

His cell rang.

Jisung.

And like that- Chan remembered.

He definitely supposed to be somewhere _not_ miles from their studio.

Well- he couldn't exactly turn around. He didn't want to either.

Still, he answered, full apology in his tone- the language briefly English. "Hey man."

 _"Hey,"_ Jisung answered in turn. _"Where'd you get off to?"_

He sounded chill. Too chill- considering Chan had been AWOL for the entire morning.

Reasonably, Chan had his suspicions. "I got really sidetracked," he answered. "I'm sorry about that. Did you and uh- Changbin get anything done?"

_"No. He got annoyed at me and left?"_

Good grief. So it hadn't resolved itself after all.

"Was there a fight?"

_"Not a single one. I don't get it. We were fine last night. Felix was here. We did some stuff if you want to take a look. He was kinda out of it though. He went to bug Changbin."_

Minor traces of guilt existed in Chan's heart. The discontent towards Minho was stronger. He hoped he didn't sound so bothered as he said to his friend, "I'll definitely take a look. But it won't be for a while. Probably tomorrow. I've got- some stuff came up."

Jisung fell quiet for a prolonged period of time. Chan couldn't tell what his bandmate was thinking.

 _"...What's going on with us?"_ Jisung finally said, under his breath- as though questioning himself.

He sighed before Chan could address it.

Spoke- before Chan could attempt to make it better.

_"Cool. Whatever. See you when you get back."_

Chan lowered his eyebrows, brow creasing. "Jisung, hold on-"

Jisung ended the call.

Chan exhaled, frustration, appetite now gone.

What a foul taste left his mouth from everything.

God.

For every thread of conflict he thought he was getting closer to resolving- another opened up.

Unknowingly, Minho had become some sort of black hole- turning them all on their heads.

And Chan had let him.

He looked from his bagged food to the passing highway out his window.

 _Somehow_ for all the good Chan intended and told himself he was doing, it felt like he was only serving to make things worse.

Yet it necessary.

It _was_.

If a pillar like Minho crumbled, how much easier would it be for the rest of them to follow?

They couldn't take another hit. They couldn't.

Chan banged his head lightly on the window glass. 

They'd already lost too much- suffered as a group in the industry. They were _just_ starting to rise back up.

_Please don't let this end us._

But Chan felt no reassurances.

He felt nothing but exhaustion- and crawling fear. 

* * *

Minho cracked a yawn. _Tired..._

He blinked, shoulders folding.

He waited for his dongsaengs to join him in the bustling, mountaintop cafe. 

The lengthy, glass-walled, wooden abode had been built close to the top of the lifts specifically for these instances of respite.

Seojun's father really had accounted for everything, hadn't they?

Almost everything. Except his own kids.

Minho wasn't sure whether to sympathize or blame the man yet. That was a father who was working with variables and factors he didn't even know existed. But that was for the best.

Minho propped his elbow on the table he had claimed for himself and his dongsaengs, thinking.

The view outside the window was nostalgic but nice. Family and coupled friends. Youth bumbling up the hilltop, teasing, pushing, joking loud. Seungmin had gotten distracted by a neon green bear mascot near the entrance doors. Promoting a charity, from what Minho gathered, offering grants and wishes to kids-

' _Dreaming the Future'._

He was familiar with its kind.

Minho rested his chin in the palm of his hand. Why Seungmin was so particularly interested, Minho didn't know. If his friend wanted to learn more about a good cause, however, he wouldn't stop him.

Jeongin was waiting in a line for seafood and bone broth soups. Hyunjin, iced coffee and bagel in hand, was walking through the assortments of tables and their occupants, drawing near.

The phone in Minho's lap buzzed.

A new message.

Minho glanced at it- then tucked the phone away.

Hyunjin sat. "Not hungry?"

"I'm hungry."

"Go eat."

"Don't want to get up."

Hyunjin slid his iced coffee over, rolling his eyes.

Minho started drinking immediately.

They were quiet in each other's company, at ease, slightly worn.

Hyunjin fiddled with his bagel for a bit, turning it in his hands, searching for the line to split it in the middle. He couldn't find one.

"They're fresh-basked here," Minho commented, watching. "You have to cut it yourself."

So that was why the worker behind the counter had given him a knife. Hyunjin placed the bagel on the napkin Minho offered. He didn't touch it for a moment.

"Why do you know so much?"

"Because I have a lot of knowledge."

"I meant about this place. You barely asked for directions and knew about how the lifts and stuff worked."

"It's a lift," Minho said, bemused. "It's not complicated."

Hyunjin snorted. "You're suspicious, Lee Minho. And we're finally alone. Again. Without them." He indicated with a hand vaguely in the direction he assumed Jeongin and Seungmin were in. "Didn't I say I was gonna ask you everything?"

"You did. I also remember someone getting pushed after."

"Tough luck. There's no deck here for you to knock me off of."

Minho grinned, slurping the coffee faster than Hyunjin thought he should- considering the three shots of expresso Hyunjin had requested go inside. "You've given me a cup with a straw. Don't think I can't make it into a weapon."

Hyunjin laughed. "I'm not scared. I've got a shield." He raised his bagel in front his face.

Snickering, Minho took the straw out his cup and attempted to poke it through the hole of the bagel.

They fussed and played for a good five minutes before Minho succeeded and they settled down.

In his pocket, Minho felt the phone he'd tucked inside, buzz again. He stabbed the straw back into the cup and got to his feet. "I'm going to the bathroom," he announced.

Hyunjin lifted a brow. "Is there a bathroom in here?"

"There's one further down the hill. Could take a while. Maybe I'll be back," Minho replied. "Careful with your knife," he teased.

He left the coffee, patting Hyunjin on the shoulder as he went.

Hyunjin grabbed the cup, sipping for himself, chewing on the straw.

He was still struggling to separate his uncut bagel in two when Jeongin finally left the line he'd been caught in and joined him at the table. He'd been so slow, Minho had gotten bored and left.

The excuse had been the bathroom, but Hyunjin knew better. It was more likely his hyung would wind up in their bedroom, napping, after wandering around some more.

He was, unpredictably, predictable enough to read.

That coffee would kick in eventually and make him crash. It wouldn't be such a bad thing for Minho to get some rest anyway. They'd been running around, climbing, skiing, snowboarding, tumbling off and speeding for hours with few moments of break.

Minho's good mood and taunts and smiles.

His untroubled conversations.

His fixed attention on their snowboard instructor's lesson.

Helping Jeongin with learning how to stop, adjusting Seungmin's rumpled coat, returning Hyunjin's hat no matter how many times it fell off. Beneath all of this, his actions and cheer, was a sense of languor. Minho might've been tired. From a poor night's sleep, from a cold- Hyunjin wasn't likely to know. He just didn't want his hyung to suddenly pitch over and pass out.

There'd been enough of that.

Though there _had_ been a purpose in coming to a place like this, there was something liberating about being able to joke around so freely where no one knew who they were and what they did.

And... it'd been fun.

The clock hung ornately on the wall behind Hyunjin's head had read close to three p.m. when he had first checked.

Hours had spent messing around and admiring the view. Jeongin and Minho had been so awkward interacting at first. Seungmin had been _too_ interactive.

Somehow, gradually, they'd found a balance. 

Hyunjin got better at snowboarding. Skiing, he couldn't quite control his limbs in proper order, and Seungmin had quickly put his attempts to an end- lest he break their rental equipment and rack up all sorts of bills. Several which would've been medical- without a doubt.

They'd hit the sauna.

They'd poked their heads into a TV room and watched half an episode of some sort of thriller drama.

They'd hiked up and down the small ridge of the mountain resort, touring as a group, clustered close, touching expensive decorations and hiding the pieces of them that had fallen off.

Like this- Hyunjin felt them- their friendship growing, a learning, unfurling thing once more. Gears on a machine- they were still clicking into place. Their relationships with one another weren't equal in depth- Hyunjin could recognize and admit it.

But that didn't mean they didn't care. It didn't mean they weren't interested.

It meant they were working. Exploring. At their own pace, in their own ways.

If precious minutes of laughter and undulating joy could exist- weren't those moments, as they came in the present- enough?

Hyunjin thought so. Deeply.

For the longest time, he resented, grew frustrated, cursed himself for a mind too sensitive- for a tongue too quick to lash out- with a heart that surged and burned. But the short-comings of 'feeling' came with equal blessings.

Hope.

Passion and care.

These were the values, inch-by-inch, he sought to convey. Regardless of the setbacks.

His members, their problems, his troubles, their personal endeavors and thoughts- he was learning from it all.

Was there a predestined date a person became fully self-realized? A time limit? A deadline?

Others, younger, had found themselves, forging ahead unshackled with bursting love and perseverance.

Hyunjin hadn't gotten there yet. He wasn't always sure- but that thought, that belief tickled at the uncertainties of his mind. He would get there. _He would._

That conviction held him.

So Hyunjin treasured Jeongin. He respected Seugmin. He admired Minho, incredibly so, however little he could understand him.

Minho was strong. Full of mental will. Optimistic. Realistic. Two things that shouldn't work together yet did.

Surely something big and great weighed on Minho's shoulders. Surely it was following, lurking in every taken step.

But Minho carried on. Self-assured.

What could faze him? What could hurt him? What would bring him grief?

Was there anything?

Yes. There was.

Hyunjin had an inkling of a clue. Being here- seeing it with his own eyes again. That clue was a fact few could dispute.

Thus, foolishly, the part of Hyunjin that held equal fondness and annoyance towards his hyung, wanted to act. Protecting Minho. Keeping his strength, and consequently Hyunjin's own resolve, safe.

If that meant prodding. If that meant sticking himself in situations where he didn't belong. If that meant being pushed away and held close in sudden hugs seeking warmth. Hyunjin would do it.

Starting with the first question- moving to sit before him.

"Where did hyung go?" Jeongin inquired, his tray of delicious and oddly sweet smelling food on the table. Two covered porcelain bowls, blue and white.

Hyunjin wondered what was in them. Out loud, however, he answered, "Bathroom."

"Mmph. I doubt that," Jeongin uttered.

Hyunjin shrugged. He succeeded, at long last, in tearing his bagel in two. He went for his butter and knife. Not a combo he particularly liked, but it gave his hands something to do while his mind conjured the words of confrontation he itched to share. "So."

"So what?" Jeongin didn't make a move to touch his food. He narrowed his eyes and made an accusation instead- as if they hadn't been chuckling over Minho twenty minutes before who had lost a glove on one of the lifts on their way to this outpost cafe. "I know you have my phone. Give it back."

Seungmin- that traitor. Hyunjin couldn't even be surprised.

His same-aged friend had done the complete opposite of anything Hyunjin expected going into this trip. Keeping secrets for himself. Teaming with Jeongin. Going solo and, more often than not, hogging Minho's conversations and train of thoughts for nearly two-thirds of their day.

Ha.

Two could play at that.

Hyunjin really wasn't as docile as they liked to think. Neither was Jeongin. And if his bandmate assumed he was getting his phone back that easy, he was very wrong.

"That's right," Hyunjin noted. "I have it."

"So give it."

"No, I'm okay. I snooped through your texts." He ignored the appalled expression on Jeongin's face, biting into his bagel. "Why did hyung give you money? One-hundred thousand won out of pocket, on short notice? He didn't even say you had to pay him back."

"Hyung." Jeongin seemed _floored._ "Why did you read my personal stuff? Wh- you have no right!" his voice slightly rose.

Hyunjin judiciously chewed. "You left it out. I didn't show Seungmin your messages with the hyungs." Not that he had the chance to. "Anyway, what's the reason? I'm not mad or anything. I don't have a reason to be, you know. But about the money and Minho- you can't lie about that since I've seen it."

Wrong.

Jeongin could lie. Jeongin could keep lying.

His palms were clammy and cold at the notion.

Being dishonest- or being just a bit honest. Like Felix. Like Seungmin.

Hyunjin wouldn't berate him. Hyunjin wouldn't even scold. He would ask questions until he was satisfied and then either pursue it or leave it alone.

"Chan-hyung gave the money. He said it wasn't his own. He thought I should come up here and help Minho out."

"Help him out how? With what?"

"With his illness."

"What illness?"

"I don't know."

Jeongin glanced down at his bowls.

"We don't know. It might not be a kind of illness at all. It might be a person. Or a thing."

"A thing," Hyunjin repeated.

"...An outside kind of trouble."

Hyunjin suddenly thought back to Felix's inference he had heard through the tangled grapevine of their bandmates of a phone call and a threat.

He couldn't exactly dismiss it. Outside trouble was just the kind of thing Minho actually _would_ keep them from getting involved in.

Yet it poked at his mind- the nature of the texts exchanged between Jeongin and their leader- Jeongin and their manager.

A hospital name he didn't recognize. Two addresses. Images of a gorgeous fountain before a large facility.

Talks about contracts and files on record.

It seemed _too_ important and _private_ for Jeongin to be involved in to such a degree. If there was any aspect of it all Hyunjin couldn't wrap his head around- it was _this._

Why was the Jeongin the one?

Their maknae? Their youngest?

Hyunjin had considered some sort of sickness already.

He had known a classmate from high school who had grown up healthy, slightly overweight, full of life and vibrant- only to be diagnosed with a blood disease that had been lurking beneath the surface, dormant. That classmate had become a husk- living- but not quite the same. He hadn't wanted to, but Hyunjin _had_ thought on it in the night and morning.

These circumstances weren't as uncommon as people thought. But Minho would've told them if that was the case. As soon as he knew, Minho would have said the condition he faced.

For the sake of the group and his career.

It was one of the only reasons Hyunjin hadn't locked onto the terrible possibility.

So what was it then?

His bagel was cold and hard in his hand.

He lowered it, lips twisting down.

"Innie," he said seriously. "Forget about the others and Minho himself. What do _you_ think it is?"

Jeongin's gaze was full of knowledge. Hidden.

His eyes wavered.

His mouth opened- then shut.

He lowered his brows.

Hyunjin frowned further. What _was it?_

Jeongin's decisions weren't just because their manager and Chan had conferred and asked him. It was something else. There was _something else._

"Hyung." Jeongin took in a small breath. "Let me have my phone first."

Hyunjin read his teammate's face. If there was suspicion Jeongin would grab the phone, run and avoid the question, it was soon gone.

Vulnerability, features unfolding.

Jeongin was being honest.

"Okay."

Hyunjin reached into his left pocket.

Then he reached into his right.

Searching, he checked his left pocket once more.

He patted down his pants. He patted down his shirt. He could feel Jeongin's staring.

"Where is it?" the other boy asked. Hyunjin, still roaming his hands over his clothing, looked up. "....I don't know."

Jeongin kept staring. Except this time there was an unreadable crease in his forehead beginning to show. "Seungmin-hyung said you had it." 

"I did." 

"And now you don't?" 

Jeongin glanced at his untouched food. He carefully, slowly, got up.

"I'm gonna go to the front desk," he said. "If it fell, someone might've dropped it off there."

Hyunjin frowned, guilt curling in his stomach with the vaguest sense of unease at having lost something so important to someone else.

Had he really been that careless? Hadn't the phone been tucked in his coat pocket securely? Since the viewing deck in the morning, it'd been in his possession.

"I'll come with you," he offered.

Jeongin raised a hand, smiling, though it didn't reach his eyes. "It's fine. I'd rather go alone."

Was he mad?

It was probably better to let him cool off.

Hyunjin falteringly agreed.

"Should we meet you back at the room?"

Jeongin glanced around the large cafe. He found Seungmin. Did a triple-take.

His hyung and the green mascot were sitting beside one another on the bench near the entrance, talking deeply.

"Uhm." He looked at Hyunjin once more. "Yeah. I'll see you guys back at the room. Don't rush. Enjoy the food. You guys can have what I got."

Hyunjin nodded.

Jeongin left, reluctant lies once more burning on his tongue.

He wasn't planning on checking the front desk.

If his feelings were correct...

Jeongin stepped out the side entrance of the cafe, blue skies and clouds, the ramp he descended coated in soft snow. There was definitely no bathroom in this direction.

Hopefully Seungmin's heart-to-heart would keep him and Hyunjin inside for a decent amount of time.

Jeongin was going back to their suite.

* * *

Outside, in brisk, wind-blown flurries, low down, Minho loitered behind the entrance chalet of the resort, his footsteps the only visible pair sunk deep within the snow. He searched through the contacts of the phone he held and chose the familiar one.

Hyunjin never did zip his pockets well.

And Minho had never been that fond of impromptu hugs. 

The air nipped his nose.

He breathed it in.

Frigid.

Heat pressed within his chest.

No one could mind their own business, could they?

Irritating.

Here he had been willing to go along with the charade- for their sake- and his own. Hadn't he warned them not to push? To let things go?

They were stepping into something they couldn't possibly understand.

Changbin was more than enough. Almost much too more than enough. They couldn't keep up their pretense at the rate things were going.

And how much longer would his teammate be able to hold the secret in?

Not very long.

They were breaking apart at the seams the more the others picked and dug their way in.

Didn't they get it? Didn't they understand?

How many times had he mentioned it in passing? The different aspects of him must've told them before- in private- in public.

This was his chosen path.

He believed in it more than anything.

No matter the obstacles, the burdens, the wrenches thrown into the stacks of resolve he had constantly been building.

That was life. That was will.

The strength to rebuild no matter the number the stacks had been cast aside and trashed.

Up and down.

Back and forth.

He was elated one instance, morose the next. Wandering in his head, wandering in reality- this reality- born of his mistake. A mistake that had been a decision. One he didn't have to live by. At the very least, of all things, Seojun had been right about that.

Overwhelming. Spiraling. Solidifying.

His constant was the sky and all its clouds and stars. Blue as the threaded bracelet on his wrist. Binding as the chain that held him steadfast to the one on the other side.

But Minho was losing grip of the constants and its security. It followed him, worse than before, faster than before.

Last time, he had been at the lake's lodge. This time, for the first time, he was at the mountain.

Hopefully, Misun would keep to her word and say nothing to the head of the Im family. So long as that man didn't notice- so long as nothing there had _changed_ -

Minho didn't worry his lip. He had stopped the habits years ago. He had mulled over everything instead.

From his bandmates, to Hana, to himself- bent over a toilet bowl with bruising knees for the umpteenth time, reeling, struggling for breath that should've never been hard to catch from the start.

These were consequences, tearing his body apart.

For choosing to say 'yes'. For choosing to follow.

He needed to focus- not get so distracted- and stop hitting his head. Even sleeping was getting dangerous. No matter what he tried, he didn't have control.

The different dreams and memories never ceased to come.

Touring overseas, performing on stage, showcases and schedules, formalities, press, panels, people, phones- photoshoots and radio- a determined kid- a kind, eccentric celebrity who had walked away.

The responsibilities of family and friends.

Flip the coin.

The obligations of family and friends.

A dancer, giving to the community, involved more heavily in acts of charity, working with kids and animals, caring for his mother, caring for Hana, loathing Seojun- sitting at home watching idols on screen- knowing what could have been.

Hold the coin.

The hand was his. Seeing both heads and tails.

The idol. The performer. The one who did what he had to- with three cats- too many friends.

Family and bandmates. Grievances and wants.

The one that wanted simple, quiet and important things to remain. The one that wanted to save. The one that wanted to forget.

Really... how could he control it all?

His heart was always the same- even if the tempo it beat to was not.

Minho would live until he died. Wouldn't everyone?

His problems were his to shoulder and to sort. No ill will. No malice. They were simply _his_.

Changbin understood and Changbin let him because he was fearful of what would happen if he didn't.

What a double-edged sword.

He owed Changbin so much.

He'd repay it back one day. For now, until then.

_Keep going._

Minho was here.

On the other end of the phone, finally, at long last, Chris- no Chan- picked up.

 _"Hey,"_ the familiar voice sighed. _"How's it going? I saw you called a couple times earlier and messaged. I was a bit busy talking with hyung and we're kinda on the road. We're on our way to meet with someone."_

Minho smiled thinly to himself. "That's neat. I hope they tell you something good."

Absolute quiet.

Minho waited. He knew so much more than Chan ever could. Than any of his bandmates could comprehend.

Well-meaning. Intrusive. They were still fools.

Minho had worked too hard. He had come too far.

The setbacks. Their inquiries. He'd been holding it in for as long as he could. Smothering the temper. Wrangling the irritation. The urge to break and scold them for what they didn't know.

He had no other chances. Either way, he was done.

But if they ruined this- _this_ \- it'd be over before it even began.

Throwing them off his trail.

That had been his intent.

He didn't intend to change that.

He did, however, now holding the voice of an old friend in hand, intend to put the relentless prodding to an end. No more. Without a leader to spearhead their antics, eventually the rest of the members would _drop it_ and forget.

Chan remained muted.

Minho didn't scoff beneath his breath. Not yet.

He scuffed the snow off the heel of his boot, onto his opposite shoe, using the wall as leverage.

The afternoon sun on the nape of his neck simmered, hot. He winced and closed his eyes, struggling for a bit.

When he opened them again, he contemplated dying his hair and the odds of whether his leader had hung up the phone or not.

_"Minho."_

Oh. So he hadn't. Good for them both.

It would've been a hassle to try and call again.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, unbothered. He had Jeongin's phone, sure, but it wasn't really important to mask his true voice. He and Chan weren't fooling anyone, least of all each other.

Minho could toe any line with the older boy- and match it.

He deferred out of respect.

He deferred because it wasn't his place.

Even so.

"What? You've gone quiet again? Nothing to say?" he inquired casually. "Don't expect the kids to come and interrupt our call anytime soon. Jeongin's most likely still looking for his phone."

_"...He doesn't know you have it."_

"I'm sure he will soon," Minho commented. "He'd find it interesting. You like to talk about me, right?"

Chan gave no answer.

No indication he was breathing.

Stony, stacking silence.

Minho rolled his eyes. They wound up on his boots, sunken in the white, shining, crystalline snow.

"Hey," he said annoyed. "Say something."

Chan didn't.

Minho, not particularly angry- but very much irritated- raised his voice. " _Go ahead and talk._ "

_"Sure. I'll talk."_

No warmth. No humor. No mirth. His leader spoke flat.

_"That'll be more than what you've done, yeah?"_

"Wow," Minho spoke flatter. "You're normally not this rude."

 _"Neither are you. Tell me something,"_ Chan quipped. _"Who have I got on the phone here? The Minho I went to the movies with? Or someone else?"_

Minho scoffed. "Sorry to disappoint. We're one and the same."

_"You know, I've been poking around."_

"You should fix that bad habit."

_"Like you should fix your lying skills. Were you ever going to tell me?"_

"Not really. I have a feeling you're off the mark."

_"Am I?"_

And now there was something brimming in the undercurrent of Chan's voice. Scalding. Cold. Yet, there was no fury. Only frustration.

_"I wouldn't be so cocky. I called your mom."_

Minho stopped moving.

His smug countenance of indifference fractured.

Cracked.

"What."

_"Yeah. I called her. We talked. She gave us a few names. You wanna share who this... Im Seojun and Im Nayoung are? Siblings right? You knew them for a bit?"_

Minho's lips curled, displeased. He wondered if Chan's were doing the same. 

There was anger bleeding through. In both their voices. In both their thoughts.

"Keep out of my business."

 _"I would. God knows I would, Minho. But you want to know what your mom told me? You want to know where I am now? With Jae-hyung? The house I'm outside of?"_

"Be quiet."

_"No."_

"Shut up."

_"You shut up. Or answer."_

Minho's breath was gone, eyes dilated. He leaned on the wall for balance once more.

He was with Jeongin in the stairwell. He was with Felix in the cafe. He was with Haejun on the phone. Hyunjin on the deck.

Cornered.

His thoughts and heart trembled, racing far too fast.

His mom.

Of all people- his _mom._

It wasn't right. That wasn't right.

She shouldn't have done that- she _wouldn't_ have.

What had Chan told her to make her change her mind?

Why was he only present in the worst of times? In confrontations? 

_Is that my only history?_ Minho pressed against the wall, weight crumpling. "Mmph. _No_." He ground his teeth, breathing low. He steadied himself halfway down. Kept himself from sinking. Giving in.

A stranger in his own body.

He grimaced against the pain.

The threads around his wrist- they caught his eye. Blue as the sky.

Minho stilled. He blinked his eyes. Slow.

He returned- skull pounding, rattling, clenched teeth hurting like they never had before.

Shakily he inhaled. Carefully he exhaled.

Disoriented.

"Chan...hyung?"

_"I'm here."_

Chan's voice was shaken but calm. 

Minho thought for a moment. "...You called my mom?"

_"I did."_

"Why?" 

_"I had to know. I'm sorry."_

"Know what?" 

_"...Minho, listen carefully?"_

Chan posed it as a question.

Hesitant.

Concerned.

_"Can you tell me who you are?"_

"Minho," he said.

Duh.

He worked his jaw, seeking to rid it of discomfort. Trying to place where exactly he was- where and when.

 _"No, no..._ " Chan sounded like he was frowning. His friend had an awfully transparent voice. What the heck was he speaking so softly for?

Minho eyeballed the wall he was resting on in mild curiosity- then pushed himself off of it. His footsteps were a cluttered, dragging mess in the snow.

He peered around him, squinting, taking in the basic view of the vivid sky and white-swept hills.

He was behind the back of a building.

There was definitely nothing here.

Unless Hana wanted some picture of a bland hill?

He wondered where his bandmates had gone.

If they had ditched him, he was gonna get some wonderfully sweet revenge.

"Chan-hyung, I gotta go," he said, already taking several steps. "I think I got abandoned."

His body ached as he moved. He stopped himself. Flinched- as he tried to roll his tightened shoulders and neck.

"What did you call me for anyway?"

" _...I didn't."_

Minho could've rolled his eyes. The muddled feeling in his head stopped him.

"Alright," he agreed, joking. "I guess I called you."

He wasn't particularly in the mood for games and vague answers. There was enough on his mind as it was.

Like himself. His new, current situation.

He was supposed to be having fun with his dongsaengs, wasn't he? Preoccupying their minds- cheering them up and distracting them with an image of optimal health. He could've sworn he was on a lift with Seungmin not too long ago.

If only he didn't feel so off-kilter. Maybe things would make more sense.

"I'm surprised you're not mad we're up here. Shouldn't we be in trouble?" he asked when Chan's silence had drawn too long.

_"No one's mad you're up there. I'm just..."_

Chan's words caught on a hitch.

Somewhat breathless. Somewhat stunned.

Minho wasn't sure why, but Minho also didn't question. He had grown distracted.

At his feet, a blossoming, blooming flower- splattered in the snow.

Bleeding.

Oh.

Not a flower.

The taste of copper was on his tongue. Seeping through his lips.

Vertigo shifted the earth and sky- at an angle, swooping- righting back round again.

Bile in his throat.

Light-headed, he cupped a hand beneath his chin as blood dripped and pooled from his nose and his mouth.

Chan was speaking in his ear, making little sense.

_"When you get back, give Jeongin his phone, alright? Don't do anything else."_

Minho's fingers leaked red. There was no where else to put it.

He frowned.

Not again.

_This again._

Some kind of consequence again?

That explained a few things.

The aftereffects were much, much worse. He breathed- but he was growing out of breath.

A noise of pain escaped him as he spit his mouth empty and clutched at his chest. He keeled over slightly, his free hand on his thigh the only thing keeping him on his feet.

Were these moments vital? They must've been.

His lungs were being crushed. He gasped and sucked in air.

_"Minho?"_

Alarmed, his leader called his name.

Minho collected what small bits of him he could, head towards the ground. "Gotta...go," he wheezed, doing all he could not to vomit. 

_"Hold on a second-"_

"I'm going."

He let the phone drop and heaved for dear life, shuddering, gulping in breath over and over again.

The ocean- again.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

His head was splintering where he stood.

Vision fuzzy, he fumbled for the phone buried in the snow. Jeongin's phone?

_Yes. Back inside._

No, back to their room.

He needed to lie down. Realign.

Realign himself.

Recover. Repair. Like he'd been doing. Like he'd done- in the weeks and weeks before.

If he went to their room, he'd be alright.

It'd be fine.

He'd be fine.

_I'm alright._

He cursed himself gently. 

* * *

In the bedroom, sitting on the floor, Jeongin frowned, going through the black-knotted bag he had found hidden in Minho's suitcase again.

Sleeping pills and contacts.

Round glasses- a different pair than the ones Minho kept on the bathroom counter he and Hyunjin shared.

A folded envelope.

A letter that showed years of being carried and years of being read.

And the book- a dark blue calendar book with dates penned in four different colors, labeled from beginning to July.

A vast number of dates had been starred, some underlined, few circled. But in the month of July, where the notes came to an end, was the thirteenth- circled in all colors, multiple times, the pen dug in. ' ** _jun's birthday'_** had been carved into the page. Beneath the circle: _'go to the wall if you forget'._

What was that supposed to mean?

Minho had plenty of friends- Jeongin knew. But to this extent?

Planned meetings or special occasions or- whatever they were- in advance so far?

Minho was meticulous, but not in ways like this. 

_The wall..._

Jeongin ran his palm over the certain page once more, frowning deeper.

In the letter, one of the final lines written- _'It's missing from the wall. I'll help you get it back. I swear.'_

Further down, the last line.

' _Don't give up just yet.'_

There was nothing Jeongin could understand.

He was missing the other side of the conversation just like before, in the practice room, from the phone.

The handwriting didn't exactly look like Minho's.

Parts of it did. Parts of it didn't. Most of it was sloppy.

And that wasn't all. There was something else- something he didn't really know what to make of.

A silver, blue-gem flowered hair clip, set in what looked like real diamonds. It'd been in the tiny, felt case he noticed before- a rectangular, sturdy, miniature card inside.

_|this is why you can't_

When Jeongin had flipped the card over, the other side had read:

_|this is why you can_

Jeongin hated how little he knew. He closed the calendar book.

As he did, the door to their suite opened.

Minho stumbled in.

Jeongin shoved everything into the black bag quickly, squashing it beneath clothes and two books that had been brought. He was prepared to defend himself for snooping in his older friend's luggage, but Minho only struggled to close the door behind him, casting an unseeing eye over the expanse of the room.

White as a sheet.

Trembling, pawing for some leverage, Minho sunk to the floor.

Book and dates and colored pens- lines and circles- envelope, confrontation at the lobby's phone forgotten- Jeongin rose and hurried over.

Terror struck hard and fast.

The practice room again.

"Hyung-"

Except Minho was awake.

This was the stairwell again.

Except Jeongin caught him.

He brought them both to the floor, ungracefully, knees thumping onto wood.

His heart was in his ears.

There was blood on both their hands.

A frantic, thick-spoken whisper.

"Hyung. What's happening? What's wrong?"

Minho's fingers gripped Jeongin's sleeve. "The bed," he mumbled. "Let me on it?"

"Tell me what's going on."

A weight in Jeongin's lap.

His phone.

It slipped from Minho's other hand.

Jeongin stared. A new wave of fear swept through him.

Minho sighed- as if reading his mind. "Please."

He stated it like a fact. He rested his forehead briefly on Jeongin's shoulder, closing his eyes.

"Please don't make this a big deal."

That was the only warning Jeongin got.

Minho vomited.

Minho went limp.

Minho didn't pass out but he didn't speak again.

He didn't do anything. Anything at all.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Hyunjin and Seungmin wandered idly through the door, ski bags over their shoulders, sharing childhood memories of sports and hobbies from middle and high school years. They trekked in snow and mud from their arduous climb up the hill.

Hyunjin pestered Seungmin, for the hundredth time, on his nefarious intentions involving their hyung as their conversation moved. Seungmin called him an idiot. 

In a great moment of prolonged panic, repugnance and dismay, Jeongin- ten minutes prior- had started to drag Minho towards the nearest bed.

The weight was too much. It was gross.

His hands had slipped, wet with blood and snow and bile.

So Jeongin had ditched Minho in the middle of the open floor, hurrying for water. 

Last time he checked, Minho had been ridiculously, calmly, looking at the high-above ceiling. 

Now, halting halfway out the bathroom, as Hyunjin and Seungmin came to a dead-stop, Jeongin could see that Minho's eyes were closed, he had thrown up again- and he looked remarkably dead.

Jeongin met his bandmates' eyes.

He opened his mouth- but no sound came out.

The silence was deafening.

The explosive bewilderment that erupted from them afterwards- was not. 

* * *

They were sixteen years old.

Side-by-side, they sat on the edge of the lake's pier.

Minho relaxed his feet in the swirling blue and brown waters. Seojun picked at the strings of his guitar, acoustic and well-kept.

An idle tune, without purpose, danced across the air.

Heat prickled at their skin, their sleeves and pantlegs rolled.

In Minho's lap, a letter- open and read. His gaze wandered to the trees across the sitting lake.

He hummed to his friend's song.

Though the depths of the deep lake called, the sounds of summer and music kept them above ground- buzzing- flitting pleasantly, softly, in their heads.

* * *

He was ten years old.

Cross-legged on the floor, in the morning sun sweeping through his room, Minho leaned forward and focused, bangs pulled back with a clip that was not his own.

In a heavily-filled notebook- he penned himself a letter.

_Remember not to tell_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a monster of a chapter to write and double-check. All the little things, I needed to pay attention a bit harder than before lol. I've given half the answers. I'm feeling a certain way XD You guys have no idea. Happy Reading! 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzNvk80XY9s&ab_channel=SleepingAtLast  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXp0hTkXiks&ab_channel=ASMRMagic


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